Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
Summary: Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their wa
1. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 00/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
Author's Notes: I'd like to dedicate this story to Mirage. As far as I'm   
concerned, without her, there would be no "Deep Water." She's been with me since   
the inception of this plotline, which began several years ago with "Not the   
Doctor," and which will now, I hope, pick up steam and continue in a number of   
additional stories. Mirage was instrumental in the design of this story, and   
contributed much in the way of background research, character design, plot, and   
dialogue. (Though any errors within are strictly my own.) As with my previous   
fanfic efforts, she continues to be a terrific editor, a valued sounding board,   
a great friend, and was a source of inspiration when I faced what appeared to be   
an insurmountable brick wall during the writing of this story. Thanks Mirage! I   
couldn't have done this without you!  
  
Thank you to Kelley for beta-reading this story. She has offered so many   
thoughtful comments and wonderful suggestions that have helped me to fine-tune   
many aspects of the story--ideas that I feel have enabled me to improve the fic   
immensely. She has also offered tremendous insight not only into many of the   
nuances of the craft of writing, but also into the minds and motivations of   
these characters we have all come to love. Thank you, Kel!  
  
Special thanks to my roomie, Erika, for enduring my seemingly endless need to   
discuss certain medical conditions and procedures that are depicted in the   
story--not to mention putting up with me during this revision process. She also   
suggested the addition of a scene to the epilogue that I hope helps to provide a   
bit more closure than as originally written.  
  
I've taken some liberties with regards to Hawaiian geography, religion,   
folklore, etc., so please keep in mind that some details may not be completely   
accurate. No disrespect is intended. Likewise, I did my best to research the   
hiking/climbing equipment, but some poetic license has been taken in the   
interest of the story.  
  
"Deep Water" is a Jewel song, and can be found on her second CD, "Spirit."   
Complete lyrics can be found at the end of the story. If you haven't checked out   
Jewel's album, I highly recommend it. The moment I heard the song, I knew I had   
found the title for this story.  
  
As originally conceived, "Deep Water" was going to be the flip side of "Not the   
Doctor": heavy on MulderAngst, with the story told primarily through his point   
of view. While writing it, however, I found that my natural proclivity is to get   
into Scully's head. So you may notice that the story gradually shifts toward   
Scully's viewpoint. Guess I'm just a Scullyist at heart. Mulder fans, don't   
fear. I *will* give the MulderAngst a try in an upcoming part.  
  
Now that I've finally named this series, I'm revising the name of my previous   
story to "Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor." As I've alluded to, "Not   
the Doctor" and "Deep Water" are merely the set-up for a much more extensive   
storyline. I consider the writing of "Deep Water" to be the major hurdle in the   
progression of the plotline. With its completion, and the introduction of a   
character who will play a major role in the story I'm trying to tell, I am   
hopeful that it will be clear sailing from here on out. Most of the later parts   
are drafted in one form or another, and I hope to get them polished and posted   
soon. Needless to say, any encouragement is greatly appreciated!  
  
All comments and criticism are welcome at somogyi02@yahoo.com. I'd love to hear   
what you think!  
  
*****  
  
  
Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 01/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
When you're standing in deep water  
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw  
And when you're drowning in deep water  
And you wake up making love to a wall  
Well it's these little times that help to remind  
It's nothing without love  
  
  
  
"Penny for your thoughts, Agent Scully."  
  
Fox Mulder smirked. Though he was sure his partner would much rather be left   
alone with her thoughts, it seemed their guide had other ideas. Ever since they   
had rendezvoused with Uncle Stu (Of Uncle Stu's Famous Hawaiian Tours), a   
veteran guide who made a living taking tourists through the local caves, the   
older man had barely given her a moment's peace. It seemed Stu could barely take   
his eyes off of her--much to Scully's dismay. Normally, Mulder might intervene   
by making some sort of manly or partnerly gesture meant to intimidate in order   
to get the man to back off a bit. But considering the fact that Scully would   
probably be more likely to poke her own eye out with a white hot nail than ask   
him for help right now, he decided to stay silent. Besides, it was kind of fun   
to watch her squirm.  
  
Mulder raised the beam of his halogen flashlight a few inches and watched as   
Scully stiffened almost imperceptibly at Stu's words. She barely lost a beat,   
however, and continued to follow the guide along the narrow path in the cave.  
  
"Actually, Stu, I was just wondering why we're here," she told him.  
  
Mulder bit back a bitter laugh. How many times had he heard her ask that same   
question? How many investigations had they conducted which his partner found   
unwarranted? How many cases did she think were a waste of her time and her   
talents? How many murders, or kidnappings, or other violent acts apparently the   
result of unexplained phenomena did she feel were better left to local   
authorities?  
  
One would think that having your judgment questioned, your theories opposed,   
your very life's work challenged day after day would begin to grate. Quite the   
contrary in his case. Mulder did not mind having to work a little harder, to go   
the extra mile to convince his partner and her there-must-be-a-logical-  
scientific-explanation-for-this mind that his ideas not only had clout but were   
more often than not the correct solution. It made the work more respectable. It   
kept his mind sharp and honed. Her skepticism balanced out their partnership.  
  
After over six years of working together, Mulder no longer reacted to such   
blatant incredulity. Just as his gallows humor or sardonic wit or even the   
occasional innuendo no longer got a rise out of her--(oh, how he had made her   
blush during their first few months together!)--so too had he become accustomed   
to her disbelief.  
  
Only now, during a trying time in their partnership when they were on very shaky   
ground--both literally and figuratively he recognized, especially in light of   
Uncle Stu's warning that these caves were prone to falling rock--the fact that   
she had fallen back into old patterns gave him hope. Though she had not actually   
addressed him, he knew that her query had been posited with him in mind. And,   
truth to tell, this was probably the least caustic remark she had uttered in his   
direction since they arrived in Hawaii early that morning.  
  
For his part, Uncle Stu seemed to be enjoying the interaction--or rather, the   
lack thereof--between the two partners. This was likely the most excitement he   
had seen in a long time.  
  
"That's a good question, Agent Scully, ma'am," Stu replied. "Me, I'm here 'cause   
Detective Agbayani said two Feds needed a personalized guided tour of these here   
caves. 'Stu,' he says, 'I know you've been doing this for over twenty-five   
years. You're the best man for the job,' he tells me. When I asked him why you   
two needed to see the caves, he didn't tell memuch, other'n 'It's official   
business.' Me, I just assume it's got to do with th e death of those two kids   
the other day. Ain't that right, doll?"  
  
"Perhaps we should ask Agent Mulder," Scully suggested neutrally.  
  
Stu shook his head. These two sure had a strange working relationship. "So,   
Agent Mulder," he called over his shoulder, "what brings you and your lovely   
partner to these here parts? You're sure a long ways from Dee Cee."  
  
"As Agent Scully will surely recall," Mulder began, "we're here on the lovely   
island of Niihau at the request of our boss, Assistant Director Skinner. I don't   
know about you, Stu, but it's not every day that I get recalled early from an   
enforced medical leave and told to pack my bags and get my ass to the airport--  
in middle of the night, no less. I mean, I know I've developed quite the   
reputation, but to have an insanely wealthy business tycoon contact my boss to   
personally request me to investigate the death of his son and said son's   
paramour? I must finally be making my way in this world."  
  
Scully's fingers clenched into fists at her sides. And her narcissistic partner   
wondered why she was not speaking to him? Was she not also awakened in the dead   
of night by a very irate Walter Skinner, pulled off of her temporary   
reassignment, and ordered to meet Mulder at the airport? Of course, in his mind,   
the universe was Mulder-centric, and since everything revolved around him, there   
really was no reason he should even consider her feelings on the matter. No need   
to include her in the equation at all, apparently.  
  
"Stu," Scully replied, forcing her voice to remain calm, "could you please   
remind Agent Mulder that Craig Robinson did not ask for *us* per se? He put in a   
call to the Bureau requesting an official investigation into the death of his   
son, Scott, and a native girl, Kilikina Ainalani. And because the manner of   
death was a bit . . . unusual . . . our experience on the X-Files was the reason   
our superiors recommended us as the most-qualified field agents to work on the   
case."  
  
Stu was about to speak, but Mulder beat him to it. "You'd think this guy   
Robinson was running the Bureau the way they've got Skinner jumping through   
hoops, eh Uncle Stu?"  
  
"Money and power make the world go 'round," Scully remarked to no one in   
particular. "So does owning your own island, apparently."  
  
"The Robinson family's owned the island for several generations," Stu replied.   
"'For decades, Niihau's people have managed to maintain a traditional lifestyle--  
'specially since it's the oldest of the eight Hawaiian islands. There's only   
one village on the Forbidden Island, with just over 200 people. The only real   
industries are producing kiawe charcoal and shell leis. While the people are   
content, Robinson ain't. He wants to cash in on the tourist factor, and build a   
resort here. If he brought you two in, then he must be putting you up in one of   
his hotels on the other islands. Nice digs, huh?"  
  
"Sure as hell beats Motel 6," Mulder agreed. He paused a moment, thinking. "Now,   
what was it Agent Scully wanted to know? Oh yes, I remember now: 'Why are we   
here?'."  
  
Scully gave an exasperated sigh. There was no mistaking the patronizing tone of   
her partner's voice. "Stu, kindly inform Agent Mulder that I know perfectly well   
*why* we've been assigned this case. What I was referring to is why are we here--"   
she threw up her arms, gesturing toward the rocky den that surrounded them--  
"in this cave?"  
  
"The lovely Agent Scully wants to know why we're in this cave, Agent Mulder,"   
Uncle Stu asked him.  
  
Mulder opened his mouth, but Scully cut him off before he could reply.  
  
"And make sure he doesn't give you a line about it being standard operating   
procedure to observe the crime scene. We've been over the area several times   
already. And now he's insisted that we have you take us through these   
passageways. No offense," she added quickly.  
  
"None taken," Stu assured her with a smile. "It's always a pleasure to be in the   
company of such a charming and pretty li'l thing like you." He gave her an   
exaggerated bow.  
  
Scully sighed. And she thought Frohike was a real piece of work.  
  
"Hold up a sec," Stu said abruptly with a raised hand as he halted their hike   
and pulled out a compass.  
  
"There are probably miles of underground tunnels here," Scully resumed. "All of   
which are nowhere near where those kids died. Frankly, I don't understand what   
Agent Mulder expects to find."  
  
During her angry gesticulating, a wisp of hair had managed to escape from   
beneath the hard hat she wore and had fallen over her eye. She swiped at it   
angrily, tucking it behind her ear--and smearing some of the grime from her   
hands onto her cheek in the process.  
  
Mulder's first instinct was to wipe it away. But even as his hand began to move   
toward her almost of its own accord, he held it in check at his side. The way   
Scully felt about him right now, he would be lucky to get all his fingers back   
if he allowed himself to get that close to her.  
  
Though Scully's eyes wandered anywhere but in her partner's direction, Stu   
looked at him expectantly. "Well? Care to enlighten us, Mister G-Man?"  
  
"I'm looking for clues as to what killed those kids. Some unknown force   
converted two human beings into a morass of mingled liquids, and yet still   
managed to leave their backpacks, sitting only a few feet away, untouched.   
Nothing I know of can do that. Nothing earthly, that is."  
  
Scully rolled her eyes heavenward, well aware of the direction this conversation   
was headed. "I examined the bodies myself," she said, looking at Stu, though her   
statement was clearly directed at Mulder. "While it's true that all of the soft   
tissues were melted from their bodies, I would hardly classify the cause of   
death as something extraterrestrial. My guess would be that they were victims of   
a well-concentrated concussive or explosive device. One capable of reaching   
extremely high temperatures and thus liquefying their organs."  
  
"But such a device would have taken out half the cave along with it--not to   
mention the backpacks," Mulder pointed out. "The walls and the bags, however,   
were undamaged."  
  
"It's possible that a device could be created to have a very narrow range of   
contact," Scully countered. "Agent Mulder should know as well as I that the   
military is constantly creating all manner of technology. Perhaps it was an   
incendiary device. Or maybe the device sprayed some kind of potent acid."  
  
Stu was starting to get dizzy, the way he kept turning his head back and forth   
between the two agents as each one looked only at him while they spoke. Now, he   
finally had a moment to catch his breath as Mulder seemed to turn Scully's   
proposition over in his mind. It was not long, however, before a small, knowing   
smile curled the younger man's lips--much like that of a hunter who realizes he   
is about to catch his prey.  
  
"Ask her if there was any evidence of corrosion on the skeletons," Mulder told   
Stu.  
  
When he did, Scully hesitated. Then, she slowly shook her head. "No, but--"  
  
"And ask her if she knows of any kind of acid that will eat through soft   
tissues, but not bone or rock."  
  
Her patience evidently at its threshold, Scully did not even wait for Stu pass   
along the question.  
  
"That doesn't mean that one doesn't exist. Like I said, *Stu*, the government is   
conducting research into all manner of weapons. Including biological ones." She   
looked at the guide, eyes narrowing. "But I'm sure I don't need to remind my   
partner of that," she added, her gaze turning to ice.  
  
Her last words gave Mulder pause. It was the closest she had come to making   
reference to the Andraven case. And their subsequent falling out.  
  
For the briefest of moments, as he glanced past Stu in her direction, he thought   
he saw a look of pain cross her features, settling in her eyes. But just as   
quickly, it was gone. Scully was too good at this, too accustomed to hiding her   
emotions behind a mask of professional detachment.  
  
So she wanted to play it this way, huh? Throw herself into the role of special   
agent, of the forensic pathologist whose job it was to observe the situation,   
gather facts, and solve the case? And to hell with him, or his feelings? To hell   
with their partnership and nearly seven years of history?  
  
Well, two could play at this game. She was not the only one who was good at   
immersing herself in her work. He could throw himself into this investigation   
just as well as she could--if not better. And even though deep down he wanted to   
get their feelings out in the open, he knew there was no point in trying to get   
through to her when she was in scientist mode. No, far better to focus on the   
case, and bide his time for a more opportune moment to try to get her to open up   
a bit.  
  
At least they were still on speaking terms--if one could call their arguing over   
the case through Uncle Stu speaking. And at least they were still working   
together. So what if their renewed partnership had been due to an order from   
above? They were still together. And that was what mattered. At least, that was   
what he kept telling himself. Maybe he would manage to convince himself sometime   
soon. . . .  
  
"I don't think it was a biological weapon, Stu," Mulder said, taking the few   
steps backwards that brought him to a cave wall.  
  
Scully watched through the corner of her eye as Mulder crossed his arms and bent   
one knee, leaning his back and the sole of his boot against the cool stone,   
managing to look remarkably casual and at ease. Hell, with barely any dust on   
his clothes, he looked like a goddamned L.L Bean model in his cotton Henley,   
windbreaker, and jeans. She, on the other hand, felt hot and sweaty and filthy.   
Her tee-shirt, moist with perspiration from the humidity in the caves, clung to   
her back and chest beneath her own light jacket. There were smears of dust and   
dirt on her jeans.  
  
It reminded her of how she had felt a couple of weeks ago when she had burst   
into a New York City Emergency Room, expecting to find her partner lying in a   
hospital bed, gravely injured. She had worked her ass off non-stop for over   
thirty-six straight hours to locate Mulder and clear his name--all the while   
compromising her morals, disobeying direct orders, and risking her reputation,   
her career, and her freedom. Given the extent of her efforts during that wild   
goose chase, her disheveled appearance was really the last thing on her mind.   
But when she had found Mulder, alive and well, chatting flirtatiously with a   
winsome female detective, oblivious to the fact that his partner had been out of   
her mind with worry for him, Scully soon felt incredibly self-conscious.  
  
The humiliating pain of that memory served to stoke the intense fury she felt   
toward Mulder. She pursed her lips, feeling her anger flare.  
  
"If it was some sort of conventional device," Mulder continued to drone on,   
"then why didn't we find any remnants of it?"  
  
Stu automatically looked in Scully's direction.  
  
"Perhaps whoever set the bomb returned after it detonated to remove any evidence   
of it."  
  
Stu nodded, considering it a valid point.  
  
Mulder, however, was not so easily convinced. "That's an awful lot of trouble to   
go to for two kids. Which brings me to another matter . . . who would want them   
dead?"  
  
"A man as rich and influential as Robinson is bound to have enemies," Scully   
pointed out. "Wouldn't you agree, Stu?"  
  
"A-yup. That's a roger, Agent Scully, ma'am. 'Specially 'round these here parts,   
with some of the locals."  
  
"At the same time, though, wouldn't you think that kidnapping would be more   
profitable than murder, Stu?" Mulder suggested.  
  
"He's got a good point, ma'am. Lotsa cash to be made from ransom."  
  
"Perhaps the perpetrator was more interested in hurting Robinson than blackmail.   
That is, if this was even intentional. Maybe Scott and Kilikina were just in the   
wrong place at the wrong time."  
  
"Bad luck?" Stu asked Mulder.  
  
"Maybe. Or maybe not." Mulder obviously knew more than he was telling--or at   
least, he *thought* he knew more.  
  
Scully knew that tone of voice only too well. She arched an eyebrow almost   
unconsciously. But for once she did not pose another question to Mulder via   
their mediator.  
  
Stu waited, looking from one partner to the next, but the expected query never   
came. Ultimately, his own curiosity got the better of him. "I can almost see   
those wheels turnin' in your head, sonny," he said to Mulder. "What sorta crazy   
idea you got cookin' in that ole noggin'?"  
  
"I think that whatever happened to those kids was deliberate," Mulder told him.  
  
"But who would want to kill them? And why?"  
  
"Robinson admitted to Agent Scully and me that he frowned upon Scott's   
involvement with Kilikina. It sounds as though he didn't want his heir apparent   
dating a native girl. Interviews with her family made it clear that they didn't   
approve of the relationship either. I don't think the local populace in general   
is too fond of the Robinson family."  
  
"Wary is more like it. Strange happenings surround some of that family's   
ancestors. As a matter of fact--"  
  
Scully, fully aware of her partner's penchant for all things paranormal, as well   
as their guide's ability to talk virtually non-stop since they set out on their   
hike, knew that this discussion could well go on for hours if left unchecked.   
Therefore, she decided to nip it in the bud before it even got started.  
  
"I got the distinct impression that the locals are not too happy with Robinson's   
proprietorship of the island," Scully said, attempting to steer the topic of   
conversation back toward more pedestrian matters. "And it's no wonder with the   
plans he has to bring a hotel and resort to the island. Despite the financial   
benefits brought by tourists, it will disrupt the inhabitants' normal lifestyle.   
Not to mention the fact that it will encroach on much of the native flora and   
fauna. What good are profits if Robinson's family is the only one reaping the   
benefits of it?"  
  
"There certainly ain't no love lost between the locals and Robinson Resorts,"   
Stu confirmed.  
  
Smiling smugly, Scully showed off her best 'I-told-you-so' look.  
  
"But since Scott's death, folks don't hate 'em so much as pity 'em," Stu   
resumed, glancing down at his compass.  
  
"Pity?" Scully asked, confused. "I don't understand."  
  
"On account of the curse."  
  
Scully's grin quickly faded.  
  
Mulder, meanwhile, had suddenly perked up, and was moving toward their guide. "A   
curse? What sort of curse?"  
  
"Well, it's more like an angry spirit that lives in the cave," Uncle Stu   
amended. "Now, if you two kids'll just stay put a minute, I need to make sure   
the path up ahead is navigable. These caves've been having some unusual . . .   
activity . . . lately. Be right back." Shining his flashlight toward a narrowing   
in the tunnel, Stu began to walk away, leaving Scully standing there, open-  
mouthed. "Oh, and play nice while I'm gone," he called over his shoulder before   
disappearing into the darkness.  
  
Blowing out a noisy breath, Scully slowly shook her head, and began to pace the   
small chamber. "Great. Just great. Now, on top of everything else, I've got to   
deal with a curse. As if this case couldn't get any worse. . . ."  
  
This was the last place she wanted to be right now. It was bad enough that she   
had to work with Mulder on this case, that she had to endure countless hours   
hiking through these damned, dark dirty caves with him, but to be subjected to   
superstitious nonsense? Was there no end to her torture?  
  
Mulder had barely uttered two words to her since they had boarded a plane for   
Hawaii, and yet he had still managed to get under her skin. One would think that   
not seeing or speaking to him for two weeks would have tempered her anger a bit.   
And yet, even after their forced separation, her animosity towards him was just   
as strong as it had been the moment she had stormed out of his apartment after   
their argument. Part of her had hoped that he would call her, or come to see   
her, that he would make some sort of contact. That he would let her know that he   
had been wrong for the way he had treated her. That he would promise to never   
take her for granted again. That he could not imagine his life without her in   
it. . . .  
  
But who the hell was she kidding? Mulder did not even understand why it was she   
had snapped at him, so why should he apologize? In his mind, *he* was the one   
who had been wrongfully accused, and *she* was the one who owed him an apology.   
Well, he could forget it. There was no way in hell that she was going to give in   
this time. She had finally found the nerve to take a stand for the respect she   
knew she deserved. Maybe if he came crawling back on his knees, begging and   
pleading for forgiveness, she might consider it. Then again, this might very   
well be their last case together.  
  
Mulder watched as Scully furiously paced the small tunnel. Her barely-reigned-in   
anger was a frightening sight to behold. He contemplated revealing some   
additional information, but hesitated, not sure how Scully would respond to his   
addressing her directly. He glanced toward where Stu had left, but it did not   
look as though he would be returning for at least another few minutes. Mulder   
wanted so much to try to open the lines of communication between them, to try to   
get them talking and back on track. But a partnership--a friendship--took two   
willing parties. He had never felt more alone.  
  
  
End Chapter 1  
  
  
***** 


	2. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 02/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
Mulder was about to bite the bullet and just talk to Scully. But in the end,   
fate made his decision for him.  
  
Hearing a noise behind them, both agents turned toward the small, dark tunnel   
from which the sound had emanated. There was a crunching of feet on gravel,   
followed by a faint beam of light which grew brighter as the figure approached.   
A moment later, their guide emerged from the passageway, a bit grimier than when   
he had left, but apparently none the worse for wear.  
  
"Sorry I took so long," Stu said, pulling off his helmet and wiping his sweaty   
forehead with his shirt sleeve. "I see you two haven't managed to kill one   
another while I was gone," he remarked with a twinkle in his eye. "Y'know, I   
haven't had to play monkey in the middle since my brother and his wife visited   
last year."  
  
Mulder actually cracked a small, amused smile. Scully, however, shot Stu a look   
that indicated any further comment on the matter would lead to his receiving   
bodily harm.  
  
Stu was either oblivious to Scully's body language, or else not worried because   
he did not let the matter rest. "I tell ya, when Detective Agbayani told me two   
Feds wanted me to guide them through the Lehua Caves, you two were not at all   
what I expected."  
  
"Oh?" asked Mulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Scully   
crossing her arms. "How's that?" As he turned his back to her, he could   
practically feel Scully's eyes shooting daggers in his direction.  
  
"I thought when I got here I'd find two stiffs in dark suits an' ties."  
  
"Well, field work in rough terrains such as this one does necessitate--"  
  
"It's not just the clothes, Agent Scully," Stu interrupted. "I expected   
whispered secrets, conspiratorial looks, an' if I were to ask you for   
information about this here case, lines like 'That's on a need to know basis'."  
  
"'And *you* don't need to know'," Mulder finished, a mock harshness in his tone.  
  
"See, that's what I mean, Special Agent Man," Stu said, chuckling. "You've got a   
healthy sense of humor. That's a rare trait in a government employee these   
days."  
  
"Well, I've never been the conventional sort--"  
  
His musings were cut short by a very loud "Ahem!" Both men turned to see Scully   
glaring at them, arms crossed. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. As fascinating as   
I find this conversation, it's getting late, and I believe we still have quite a   
bit ground to cover. Stu, was the path negotiable up ahead?"  
  
"A little rough, Agent Scully, but we shouldn't have much of a problem. After   
about fifty feet or so, the path forks. We'll bear to the left--that's the more   
superficial tunnel."  
  
"All right then," Scully said, picking up her flashlight. "Let's do it."  
  
Nodding, Stu retrieved his own lamp and started off down the path. Scully   
exchanged a brief perturbed look with Mulder. He held his arm out, gesturing for   
her to go next. Without a word, she brushed past him and followed Stu, with   
Mulder taking up the rear.  
  
Scully glanced around at their surroundings as they walked. Shadows cast by   
their flashlights leapt and danced around them, causing their distorted figures   
to loom menacingly over the walls. Around them, the rock was worn smooth by   
cylindrical deposits of lava that had cooled into an upside-down forest of   
stalactites. Similarly, dozens of lava stalagmites on the floor spiked upwards.   
As they passed through a narrowing in the passageway, it seemed as though they   
were passing through the gullet of a hungry giant--or perhaps the mouth of a   
mysterious cave creature that belonged in one of their X-Files.  
  
Had they been assigned this case a month ago, things would be so different,   
Scully mused as she took in the natural beauty of their environment. Mulder   
would be pressing Stu for stories about the Robinson curse, and she would take   
every opportunity to discount the tales as impossible. They would continue their   
good-natured banter as Mulder would bring up some wild theory about how a   
metaphysical event killed those kids, while she would insist that the cause was   
something much more earthly.  
  
Along the way, he would find some excuse to tease her, to flirt a bit, and she   
would pretend not to notice or to take offense--though, deep down, she had   
always secretly relished the attention. It was because of such playful innuendo   
that she had gotten the idea that perhaps his feelings for her were more than   
partnerly, were more than mere friendship. But Mulder dashed any such hopes the   
night he stood her up at Tufano's, and left her to take the heat for his murder   
rap.  
  
Damn him for putting this wall up between them. Damn him for backing her into a   
corner, forcing her to offer an ultimatum. The truth was, she did not want to   
leave him, did not want to leave the X-Files. But he was giving her precious   
little choice. She could not continue any more with the status quo; she needed   
to know that he was willing to make changes in his treatment of her as a partner   
if she were to consider staying. God, she wanted to stay. . . .  
  
They had not even reached the fork when Mulder broke the silence, cutting into   
her reverie.  
  
"So, Uncle Stu, what can you tell us about the spirits of this cave? Agent   
Scully here has always been especially fascinated by these kinds of stories. I'm   
sure she's love to hear all about the legends."  
  
Scully tightened her grip on her flashlight, and Mulder readied himself for a   
confrontation. He was sure she was going to try to change the subject, or shoot   
down Stu's tales as fiction before he even had a chance to expand upon them.  
  
For her part, Scully realized that Mulder was deliberately trying to aggravate   
her--probably in retribution for the silent treatment she had been giving him.   
Well, she was damned if she would give him the satisfaction of thinking he was   
getting on her nerves. Thus she decided to do something unexpected, just to keep   
him on his toes.  
  
"Yes, go ahead, Stu. Tell us all about the local *superstitions*," she said   
casually, emphasizing the last word.  
  
Stopping and moving to face the two agents, Stu shook his head slowly. "This   
ain't no superstition." He paused, turned his head to the side, and spat onto   
the ground.  
  
Scully crinkled up her nose, not sure whether to be amused or offended. "I stand   
corrected. Perhaps you could tell us the story while we continue--"  
  
"Well, little lady, Mr. Federal Agent here wants me to tell you the story of why   
this here cave is cursed." With a weary sigh, Stu lowered himself onto a wide,   
flat rock. "Ah, that's much better. Why don't you take a load off, honey?" he   
suggested to Scully, patting the rock beside him with a wink.  
  
"I'm fine where I am," Scully declined. Irked as she was by this case and the   
unsubtle ogling of 'Uncle Stu', Scully nonetheless recognized the merit of their   
taking a brief rest stop.  
  
"Well, then, at least wet your whistle," Stu said, handing her his canteen.  
  
"All right. Thanks," she replied, taking it from him. "Just make it quick, Stu.   
We're due to check in with Robinson in a couple hours."  
  
Stu, however, was the kind of storyteller who fed on an attentive audience. When   
Scully noticed that Mulder was enraptured before the tale had even begun, she   
had the feeling that her plea had just fallen on deaf ears.  
  
"Well, legend has it that there's an angry Kahuna spirit that haunts this cave,"   
Stu began.  
  
"Kahuna?" Scully asked, arching an incredulous eyebrow. She took a small   
cautious sip from the canteen. Finding no evidence of added spirits, she then   
took a few large gulps.  
  
"Yep, Kahuna." Stu looked at her, and so did Mulder.  
  
After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Scully noticed that both men   
were staring in her direction. She sighed. This was like pulling teeth. "What,   
exactly, is a 'Kahuna'?" she asked, handing Mulder the canteen. "Sounds like the   
name of a strip club," she muttered under her breath.  
  
"Don't knock other people's religions, Scully," Mulder rebuked her. "A Kahuna is   
a native medicine man or priest. Sort of like a Hawaiian witch doctor."  
  
Scully crossed her arms, annoyed.  
  
"Listen to your man, little lady." Stu grinned, watching Scully's eyes snap,   
even as Mulder choked on the water he was trying to swallow.  
  
"I was not denigrating anyone's religion," she said, looking directly at Mulder.   
"I was just asking for clarification. To have all the facts." She then turned   
toward the guide. "And let's get something straight right now, Stuart. I am no   
one's property," Scully growled, eyes narrowing in contempt. "Most especially   
Agent Mulder's."  
  
"Pardon me, Miss FBI Agent . . . your *partner*, not your man. I was thinking   
they were the same thing." Uncle Stu gave her a sly grin and a wink.  
  
Scully pressed her lips together until they formed a thin line. It was taking   
all her willpower not to react to the grin Mulder was trying unsuccessfully to   
hide.  
  
Stu sensed the need to appease her before he pushed her too far. "Actually, Mr.   
G-Man, you're only half right. A Kahuna is a priest or a priestess. In this here   
case, it's female."  
  
Seeing Scully relax a bit when her partner was gently rebuked, Stu gave her   
another wink.  
  
"So, how did she come to inhabit this cave, Uncle Stu?" Mulder asked, seemingly   
unperturbed, as he returned the canteen.  
  
Stu sat up straighter and placed his hands on his knees. He took a deep breath   
as he began his tale with a dramatic flare that he had perfected over the past   
several decades. "About a hundred years ago there was a lovely young priestess   
named Meleahana who fell in love--with the wrong man. She was sought after by   
Hi'akono, who was a priest himself. But, alas, Meleahana was a young flower and   
Hi'akono was like an old withered coconut. . . . She did not love him, could not   
love him. Instead Meleahana fell in love with a young warrior."  
  
Upon hearing Uncle Stu's metaphors, Scully felt her anger lift a little. She had   
to admit, he was an entertaining storyteller.  
  
"Hi'akono was most displeased," Stu continued, "and he cursed Meleahana for   
rejecting him, and he cursed her lover as well."  
  
"That's some serious dating scene those Hawaiian priests and priestesses had   
back then," Mulder muttered offhandedly.  
  
"He was a powerful man, Hi'akono was, and he had the ear of the Chief, who was   
persuaded to pursue Meleahana and her lover for a sacrifice to the fiery volcano   
goddess Pele. Meleahana and her lover discovered Hi'akono's plans for revenge,   
and they escaped together into the jungle under the watchful eye of a full moon.  
  
"For three days and nights they were hunted, but as twilight fell on the third   
day, Meleahana's lover was injured by a poisoned arrow and could but only   
hobble. So hobble they did to the nearest cave--this very cave--where they   
realized that the young warrior's injuries were grave indeed. Determined to save   
her lover, the young and beautiful--but only as yet partially trained--Meleahana   
chanted a healing spell. But, alas, it went awry."  
  
"Happens to me all the time," Mulder remarked sympathetically. "Those healing   
spells are a bitch to remember."  
  
"He's one of those types that always talks talks talks--on account of he likes   
to hear himself speak, eh?" Stu asked Scully.  
  
Her resulting smirk was sufficient acknowledgment. Scully found that the good-  
natured guide was beginning to grow on her.  
  
"Anyhow," Stu resumed, "instead of the proper prayer for healing magic, young   
Meleahana forgot some crucial text in the chant. The spell was reversed, and it   
became a death chant! Oh horror, anguish!" Stu exclaimed, tossing his arms into   
the air. "Meleahana had killed her beloved instead of healing him! Lo and behold   
the young warrior--" Stu held a fist up above his shoulder--"where he was once   
ripe as a banana was now only a limp discarded peel." Stu uncurled his fingers   
and let his hand flop forward on his wrist.  
  
Mulder snorted, and even Scully had to bite her lip to maintain her composure.  
  
"Meleahana bared her lovely young breasts--like ripened cantaloupes they were--  
to the air, and she beat them in her despair." And at this point Uncle Stu's   
eyes drifted over to Scully and he leered suggestively--imagining her as a   
scantily clad priestess no doubt.  
  
Fighting a smile, Scully bowed her head, avoiding Stu's gaze. A part of her was   
insanely flattered by the attention--and was desperately trying to prevent the   
more sensible part of her from taking offense at the lewd comments. She could   
just barely make out Mulder's commentary, murmured under his breath. "My,   
Meleahana--what big kahunas you have."  
  
Scully was not unaware of the older man's continued ogling. Growing more   
uncomfortable, she tightened her arms around herself, as though to shield   
herself from his undressing eyes, and pinned him with a fixed stare. Enough was   
enough.  
  
Stu went on with his story, unrepentant even with Scully's freezing glare on   
him. The same glare that made Mulder's balls shrink up into his body. Stu was   
either very stupid or just stupidly brave.  
  
"Mad with grief," Stu resumed, "Meleahana espied her lover's most prized   
harpoon--with a point made of sharpened bone--which she grasped and plunged   
deeply between her lovely young breasts. And thus she died, eyes wide open and   
staring at the sky . . . and a curse on Hi'akono upon her lips." Uncle Stu   
lapsed into silence, allowing the two partners time to digest the end of his   
tale.  
  
"How tragic," Mulder remarked after a respectful pause. "And now her spirit   
haunts this cave?"  
  
"A-yup. The legend of two lovers seeking shelter and ultimately dying together   
here tends to attract all sorts of couples to the cave." He eyed Mulder and then   
Scully speculatively. "Y'see, on account of its history, this is a well known   
place for the local kids to come and make out. I've heard talk of fighting   
couples coming out rosy, strangers getting married. They say there's something   
aphrodee-zee-ac about the place." He leered at Scully in a friendly way.  
  
"So, the legend explains why and Scott and Kilikina chose this cave for their   
midnight rendezvous spot," Mulder said.  
  
Scully's brow furrowed. "But what does it have to do with their deaths? You   
just said coming to the cave does wonders for people's relationships, Stu."  
  
Both agents watched silently as the old man stroked his stubbly chin, evidently   
lost deep in thought. "Ah, it varies with the Kahuna's mood--which you could say   
depends upon the way the wind blows. With the Kahuna's blessing, couples leave   
here deeply in love. But if she disapproves of the union . . . they don't stay   
together very long. For as many stories as there've been about a pair walking   
off into the sunset, there are an equal number about 'em splitting up."  
  
"So you think the Kahuna disapproved of Scott and Kilikina's union?" Scully   
asked.  
  
Uncle Stu took out a dirty handkerchief and blew his nose, the loud honking   
reverberating in the cave. "Pardon me, little lady. I've got clogged sinuses."   
He replaced the soiled cloth in his shirt pocket. "I've never heard of anyone   
being killed by the Kahuna, no." He shrugged. "I'm no detective . . . you two   
are the Feds--specializing in paranormal happenstance you said, right? You tell   
me."  
  
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Scully sighed, exasperated. "I thought you said this was   
a curse."  
  
"Well, yeah--the priestess is cursed to reside in this cave for all eternity."  
  
Mulder paced back and forth, absently brushing away a mosquito from his neck,   
leaving in its place a streak of blood. "There has to be a connection between   
the legend of the Kahuna and those kids' deaths." Mulder addressed Uncle Stu but   
he was looking at Scully.  
  
Mulder's theory was falling on deaf ears in the case of his partner. "As far as   
I'm concerned, this hike has wasted enough of my--our," Scully quickly corrected   
herself--"time. Can we please keep on going? The sooner we find whatever it is   
Agent Mulder is looking for, the sooner we can get the hell out of here."  
  
"Perhaps the presence of a similar couple--one who's union was frowned upon--was   
too much and awakened the Kahuna," Mulder posited. "And angered her so much that   
she struck out at them." He looked at Scully expectantly but it was Uncle Stu   
who answered.  
  
"Mebbe you're onto something there, Mr. FBI."  
  
Frustrated with this angry spirit mumbo-jumbo nonsense, Scully was determined to   
knock a hole in her partner's theory. The sooner they finished this   
conversation, the sooner they would move on, the sooner they could discover the   
true cause of death--and the sooner this case would be over. "Are Kahunas known   
for melting all of the soft tissue off of their victims?" Scully asked Stu, the   
hostility in her voice unmistakable.  
  
Stu started to reply, but Scully cut him off with a wave of the hand. "What was   
that?" she asked, looking behind them. Grabbing her flashlight, she pointed the   
beam of light back down the path they had come.  
  
Mulder and Stu both looked up, Mulder reaching for his gun in a practiced fluid   
motion that had even Scully impressed--especially given the fact that he was   
still recuperating from a gunshot wound.  
  
"What was what?" Uncle Stu asked.  
  
"I thought I heard something," Scully said, quickly reaching to the small of her   
back to retrieve her own weapon. She took a few cautious steps, arms crossed at   
the wrists, gun and flashlight pointing into the darkness.  
  
Mulder took up a stance next to her, his bitterness and hurt at their foundering   
partnership melting away in the danger of the moment.  
  
"Probably just some rocks falling," Stu called to them as he rose stiffly to his   
feet and dusted off his worn jeans. "Loosened when we walked past. That's the   
source of all this here dust, y'know." He reached for his own lamp. "Perhaps   
it's best we get movin', kids," he suggested.  
  
Unable to see anything in the dim light cast by the halogen lamp, Mulder   
reluctantly reholstered his gun. He looked at Scully, his gaze speaking volumes,   
but she refused to glance his way and brusquely moved past him to join Stu.  
  
Scully once again fell into step behind the guide as they took the left fork in   
the path. She followed him silently, but her posture indicated that she was much   
more alert for any changes in their surroundings. The soft crunching of boots on   
stone assured her that Mulder was only a few paces behind.  
  
For a moment there, it had felt like old times, she realized. In the danger of   
the moment, they were acting on instinct, ready to back one another up, to face   
the unknown threat together. It was perfectly natural. It felt wonderful. God,   
she missed him. She did not want to lose her partner, her best friend. Maybe   
there was still a chance for them. If Mulder were willing to make the first   
move. . . .  
  
With a sigh, Scully let the thought go unfinished, instead focusing her   
attention on the caves around them and any other signs of impending danger.  
  
For nearly an hour, they continued to hike through the lava caves. Around them,   
pahoehoe flows--smooth and flowing in appearance--sculpted the interior of the   
cave into silky shapes that contrasted sharply with the sharp stalagmites and   
stalactites that had greeted their eyes earlier in their journey. In certain   
spots, pillow lava had hardened into tongue-like protrusions that appeared to be   
lapping at the air, yearning for a taste of whomever might be passing by. It   
was moist, dark, and cool--like going to the netherworld, Mulder mused. It was   
easy to see how superstitious islanders had named this place the home of a   
Kahuna spirit.  
  
Abruptly, the path seemed to end as they approached a semi-steep incline. Mulder   
was about to ask if they should double back to take the right passageway when   
Stu quickly located hand- and footholds and started to ascend. Without any   
hesitation, Scully followed suit. Shrugging, Mulder climbed after Scully and   
Stu.  
  
"Funny how the tragedy that befell one young couple could so greatly affect the   
lives of so many others," Mulder remarked after a while.  
  
Stu chuckled. "Reminds me of this old Hawaiian proverb my granny was fond of.   
I'm a quarter Hawaiian you know, and I can trace my blood back to the royal   
Hawaiian family. . . ."  
  
"The proverb, Stu?" Mulder prompted, though his tone was gentle.  
  
"Ah, yes. Granny used to say 'Ukuli'i ka pua, onaona i ka mau'u'." Both agents   
were impressed with the older man's accent. "It means 'Tiny is the flower, yet   
it scents the grasses around it'," Stu translated.  
  
"The ripple effect," Scully remarked to no one in particular.  
  
Stu called out merrily, "Come along now Feddies. Once we get to the top, this   
path we're following loops back 'round to the local love nest where those kids   
were found."  
  
"So we're almost back at the entrance?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Yep. Maybe 'nother hour or so," Stu replied.  
  
The melody of their guide's whistling and the scrape of boots against rock were   
the only sounds to be heard for the next half hour. By then, the top of the   
incline was finally in sight. Stu made it to level ground first. Then it was   
Scully's turn.  
  
While searching carefully for a foothold in a steep bit of terrain, her foot   
slipped abruptly. Though she quickly caught her balance, she could not prevent a   
small cascade of pebbles and dirt from sliding down . . . straight into Mulder's   
face.  
  
He cursed, coughing and spitting the dust from his mouth.  
  
"Oops. Sorry, Mulder," she called lamely, as Stu held out a hand to help her   
onto the landing. "You okay?"  
  
Momentarily blinded by the dust, Mulder blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his   
eyes. "Oh, just peachy," he replied, still choking. "Aside from the fact that I   
can't breathe or see shit right now," he remarked.  
  
"Believe me, even with dirt in your eyes, the piles of bat terds are impossible   
to miss," Uncle Stu told him.  
  
"Bats?" Mulder asked warily, his voice an octave higher.  
  
It was then that all hell broke loose.  
  
It started as a low rumbling, almost like a distant drum beat. Scully felt it   
first as a small vibration beneath her feet.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Mulder asked. Looking up, he thought he could make out   
Scully's form, silhouetted by the light of Stu's flashlight.  
  
"Remember those disturbances I warned you about? I was hopin' we'd be able to   
make it through our hike without encounterin' any slides. I suggest you hustle,   
Mr. G-Man!" he heard Stu shout. "That ain't gonna be the safest spot to be   
hangin' from a few moments from now."  
  
"C'mon, Mulder!" Scully called down to him. "Climb up the rest of the way!"  
  
The roaring grew louder, accompanied by a low thrum of power that was unlike any   
natural cave-in.  
  
Mulder felt the rock he was clutching starting to vibrate. The small outcropping   
that served as one of his handholds seemed to be coming loose. His instincts   
told him to hold on for dear life.  
  
When it came to working on the X-Files, Mulder's intuition usually helped him   
solve his cases. Right now, though, he feared that his instincts were going to   
lead to his taking a swan dive off the incline and his body becoming a smear on   
the ground below.  
  
"Goddammit, Mulder, move!" Scully shouted, her tone urgent. "Get your ass up   
here now! Don't make me have to come down there and get you!"  
  
Looking up, he could see Scully's face peeking over the edge of the ledge, her   
outstretched hand reaching for him. He was frozen, afraid to let go lest he   
should lose his precarious grip on the rock.  
  
Looking down at Mulder's immobile form, terror gripped Scully's heart. Her anger   
forgotten, all she felt were fear and dread that he was about to be crushed by   
the larger rocks that were starting to fall--if he did not lose his grip and   
plummet downward first.  
  
She recognized the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. She also   
realized that he was too far away for her to reach.  
  
She fought desperately to keep her voice calm and unwavering as she called down   
to him, though there was no mistaking the urgency of her tone. "This is a piece   
of cake, Mulder. That slope in Antarctica was twice as high and twice as steep--  
and you were lugging me along with you!"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mulder reached up for a higher handhold. He pulled himself   
up a bit, found another foothold.  
  
"That's it, Mulder!" Scully called, encouraging him. "Almost there!"  
  
The shaking continued to loosen pieces of stone as he climbed. One small rock   
tumbled past him, then another. One struck the flashlight which was fastened to   
his backpack, and it fell free, skidding downwards, bumping repeatedly into the   
cliffside as it descended. Mulder prayed that he would not succumb to a similar   
fate.  
  
Suddenly, his foot slipped, and in the next instant the rock beneath one hand   
crumbled, leaving him hanging by only his right hand.  
  
"Mulder!" Scully shrieked. "Oh God! Hang on! Mulder, give me your hand!"  
  
He tried to raise his left arm up over his head. The muscles of his right   
shoulder--still sore from his recent injury--sung out in protest. Gritting his   
teeth against the pain, he reached up toward Scully.  
  
Leaning as far over the edge as she dared, Scully struggled to stretch her   
fingers the rest of the distance. "Gotcha!" she gasped, finally clasping his   
hand in hers. With Stu's aid, she helped Mulder pull himself over the top of the   
ledge and onto level ground. Before he could even attempt to catch his breath,   
he felt her tugging him to his feet. "C'mon, Mulder--we need to get away from   
the edge."  
  
"Agents! This way!" Stu called, heading toward the nearest of two exit routes.  
  
Before they could move more than a few feet, the very walls seemed to move as   
though alive.  
  
Scully watched in horror as a soccer-sized piece of rock struck the guide on the   
back. He crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.  
  
"Stu!" she shouted, fighting desperately to maintain her balance. She tried to   
reach him, but during a particularly violent lurch, she was tossed off-balance.   
She landed hard on her side, and even with her helmet, her head still took a   
heavy blow--enough to make her see stars. The force of her fall knocked the wind   
out of her and caused her to lose her grip on her flashlight.  
  
She could barely make out Mulder shouting her name above the noise of the cave-  
in. As the heavy duty flashlight fell and bounced away, she caught a glimpse of   
her partner heading for her. A moment later, even that meager light was   
extinguished by falling rock.  
  
And then all was dark.  
  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
  
***** 


	3. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 03/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
When Scully was thrown to the ground, Mulder saw the light from her fallen   
flashlight briefly reflect off of an enormous stalactite--the tapered,   
naturally-formed spear rocking back and forth as it loosened from its bed in the   
cave ceiling. Mulder's chest tightened as he realized that it was about to   
plummet straight to the ground--and through Scully, who lay directly in its   
path.  
  
By the time darkness hit a moment later, Mulder had a rough estimate of the   
distance between himself and his partner. More importantly, he had caught a   
glimpse of a small alcove in the cave wall just beyond where Scully lay. It gave   
him a far-fetched idea of how to save his partner and hopefully keep them both   
alive.  
  
Acting on almost pure adrenaline alone, Mulder moved without hesitation, praying   
that he would be able to make his plan work.  
  
He got a running start and then leapt through the air, arms outstretched. He   
apparently judged the distance and direction correctly, because he made contact   
with Scully: just as she had managed to get to her feet, he caught her around   
the waist in a flying tackle. He pushed her out of the way just in time; had he   
reached her a split second later, she would have been impaled by the falling   
stalactite.  
  
They came crashing to the ground together a foot or so shy of the nook in the   
cave wall. Disoriented, Scully did not put up too much of a struggle, thank   
goodness. Mulder grabbed her around the waist and rolled them over until he felt   
his shoulder strike wall. Unfortunately, it was his bad shoulder, and the abrupt   
impact sent a sharp pang shooting through his arm and chest. Refusing to let go,   
he tried his best to ignore the pain and pulled her against him in their   
makeshift cubby hole. He wrapped himself around her tightly, shielding her body   
with his own as the cave crashed down around them.  
  
All he could do then was wait--and pray that it would all be over soon, and that   
they would survive the cave-in.  
  
He was oddly comforted by the fact that if this was to be their time--if they   
were to die here now, buried alive beneath tons of lava rock--at least they   
would die together. That seemed somehow fitting. His only regret was that they   
were not on the best of terms, that Scully was unaware of his true feelings for   
her. He vowed to himself at that moment that if they were to make it out of this   
alive, he would make sure she knew how much she meant to him.  
  
For a while, it seemed as though the torrent of falling rock would never end;   
but eventually the shaking ceased and the rumbling quieted. Soon the only sound   
was of the two partners breathing heavily as they clung to one another in the   
darkness.  
  
"You okay, Scully?" Mulder whispered. One hand rested on her shoulder, and the   
other moved to cup her cheek.  
  
He not so much saw as felt her nod against him. "I- I think so." It was then   
that he realized that she was, for all intents and purposes, sitting in his lap.  
  
That idea evidently made her uncomfortable, because she started to pull back--  
not that there was really any place to go in the tiny alcove. To help put her at   
ease, Mulder reluctantly released his hold on her. It was the first time he had   
touched her in weeks, and even under the extenuating circumstances he was less   
than eager to break contact.  
  
In their close quarters, he felt her shift against him, trying to readjust her   
position. For the briefest of moments, he felt something soft brush against his   
arm; it did not take him long to figure out it was her breast that had touched   
him as she arched her back. The mental picture of Scully arching her back--not   
to mention the sensation of her contact as she squirmed against him--made his   
body thrum with desire.  
  
He was trying to find the voice to ask her what she was doing when her intention   
became clear. She must have been reaching into her pocket for a flashlight,   
because a moment later, a small beam of light struck Mulder in the eyes,   
blinding him.  
  
Instinctively, he jerked his head back--and banged it on a tiny outcropping of   
rock behind him. Which then made his jaw bang shut with a loud, painful crack.   
"Jesus, Scully! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" he muttered, trying to   
shield his eyes.  
  
"I could say the same," she replied disgustedly, pushing back from him and   
struggling to extricate herself from their small hideaway.  
  
"Yeah, well, you missed your calling as a lap dancer, Scully," he retorted.   
"You'd make a hell of a lot more doing that than you ever could on a government   
salary."  
  
"Well, you'd certainly know, wouldn't you?" she shot back.  
  
Hoo boy! Thoughts of spending eternity in her arms and confessing his undying   
love for her fell by the wayside. Right now, Mulder had to fight the urge to   
wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes popped out of their   
sockets.  
  
"I'd suggest you keep your voice down to a low rumble," he reprimanded. "That   
is, unless you want to bring the rest of the house down on top of us."  
  
"It was a cave-in, Mulder, not an avalanche. Shouting won't make a damned bit of   
difference."  
  
"Oh, so now you're an expert spelunker?"  
  
This time, she either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. She was far   
enough away at this point that all he could see was the small beam of light on   
the ground several feet away. *Great. I have a feeling that a few hours from   
now I'm going to wish the cave-in had done me in.*  
  
Reaching into his small satchel, Mulder retrieved his own flashlight. *Don't   
leave home without it,* he thought bitterly. Not as powerful as the halogens   
they had been using, but it would have to do.  
  
He did a slow three-sixty to observe their immediate surroundings. The meager   
beam bounced off of the rough surface of the cave walls, creating strangely-  
shaped shadows. As he slowly panned around, he saw that the tunnel they had been   
trying to reach in order to return to the cave entrance was now completely   
blocked. So much for an easy exit. But further to the right, there had been   
another passageway. One which Uncle Stu must have dismissed simply because it   
was further. . . .  
  
"Oh shit! Uncle Stu!" Mulder was suddenly assailed with guilt. So blinded was he   
by anger toward Scully that thoughts of their injured guide had not even entered   
his mind until now. Poor Stu was probably lying there somewhere, needing their   
help. "Scully, we've got to find Stu!"  
  
"I think I just did," she called from several feet away. There was a dejected   
tone to her voice.  
  
"What? Where?" Mulder approached her with a mixture of caution and urgency. As   
he came up beside her, his eyes and flashlight followed the path of her own   
beam. "How bad--?" His voice came up short as he caught sight of the old man--or   
at least what remained of him.  
  
From beneath a large boulder they could make out one of Stu's wrinkled hands,   
fingers frozen in a claw-like stance, a trickle of blood smeared across the   
pale, liver-spotted flesh. His arm just above the wrist had been crushed beneath   
a large rock. As, apparently, had been the case for the rest of his body.  
  
"Ah, shit," Mulder muttered. "Poor old geezer."  
  
Scully stared down at the hand, her face a blank slate. "The rock I saw hit him   
looked to have knocked him unconscious. After that, he probably didn't feel a   
thing. Even so, a crushing blow to the head would probably kill almost   
instantaneously."  
  
"And that's supposed to make me feel better, Scully?"  
  
"What do you want me to say, Mulder? He's dead. There's not much I can do about   
it."  
  
"We asked the guy to show us around the caves to gather evidence for this case.   
It wasn't supposed to be dangerous. He wasn't supposed to die. . . ."  
  
"Correction, Mulder," she said, looking up at him, eyes cold as ice. "*You*   
asked Stu to show us around these caves. *You* were the one who felt that there   
was something else to find here. Like Stu, I'm just along for the ride. And that   
could just as easily have been me or you lying there." She looked back down at   
Stu's body. When she spoke again, her voice, barely more than a whisper, was   
thick with emotion. "I hope whatever it is you're looking for is worth it."  
  
"Scully, you can't honestly blame me for what happened here? You can't think I   
wanted something like this to happen?"  
  
"I don't know what to think anymore, Mulder."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"What that means, Mulder, is that lately it seems that the only person whose   
feelings you've been considering are your own. I feel like I don't know you   
anymore. And, quite frankly, I don't know if I want to."  
  
Her words ripped through his heart like a white-hot blade. He knew after their   
confrontation in his apartment that Scully was upset with him for ditching her.   
He thought he had explained that the delicateness of the investigation   
necessitated his having to leave town without contacting her. Even after nearly   
two weeks of contemplation, he had yet to figure out where she had come up with   
the notion that he did not respect or appreciate her.  
  
He knew that they had some issues that they needed to work through. And while a   
small part of him feared that Scully might try to break away, he assumed that   
they would get through this kink in their relationship as they usually did.   
Never once did he honestly believe that she would choose simply to give up on   
him and walk away.  
  
How could she believe that he did not care about her feelings? Surely his   
actions--his words--spoke volumes for how he felt about her. Had he not been   
there for her, supporting her, as both a partner and friend whenever she needed   
him?  
  
When her dad died, and she feared that she had never gained the approval she so   
strongly coveted, he helped comfort her and assuage her doubt.  
  
When she was abducted, he never lost faith that she was out there, somewhere.   
When she was returned, he fought her family and Scully's own living will, so   
strong was his faith that she was fighting to come back to them. Hell, he had   
given up any chance at vengeance to sit at her bedside during what they all   
thought would be her last night on earth, simply so that she would know that he   
was there.  
  
When her sister was killed, he did not hesitate in putting Scully's emotional   
needs over the crucial case they were investigating. And when she decided that   
the best way for her to get through her grief was to continue to work, he   
respected her wishes and offered her his support.  
  
When she was diagnosed with cancer, he dropped everything to be there for her.   
He moved heaven and earth to try to find the answers as to the cause of her   
illness--and later for the cure. Even his life's quest of trying to find the   
truth about his sister's abduction paled in comparison to his need to save   
Scully.  
  
When she contacted him with the improbable news that she had discovered a   
daughter who had been created without her knowledge or consent--a pixie-faced   
little girl named Emily who was very sick and caught in the middle of one of   
Their inhuman experiments--he knew that the only place for him was by Scully's   
side. He aided her the best he could in her attempts to obtain legal custody of   
Emily. And when it became apparent that the girl was not long for this world, he   
offered Scully whatever support she needed. Even when she pushed him away, when   
she erected her usual emotional barriers, he respected her need to deal with   
things on her own--but still made it perfectly clear that he was there for her   
when she was ready to talk about it.  
  
Time and again, he had been there for her whenever she needed him. And if Scully   
did not recognize the strength of his devotion, of his loyalty, of his love for   
her, then perhaps it was for the best that things end between them. After all,   
there were only so many times you could bang your head against a brick wall   
before either bashing your brains in or walking away. Although either way you   
would still have a whopper of a headache. . . .  
  
His musings were cut short when he realized that Scully was kneeling down,   
bracing her flashlight beneath her arm.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked her.  
  
"I'm trying to get him out of there," she said, reaching for a rock.  
  
"Forget it, Scully. You see the size of some of those boulders? We'll never be   
able to budge them. And if we upset the balance of the whole thing, we'll be   
joining Stu under there."  
  
"But we can't just leave him here. . . ."  
  
"Have you got a better idea? Besides, even if we were to get him out, what are   
we gonna do with the body? Were you planning on carrying it around while we look   
for a way out?"  
  
She paused, and slowly rose to her feet as the logic of what he was saying began   
to sink in. Nonetheless, she still did not seem too happy about the decision.  
  
"It just doesn't seem right . . . leaving him here like this. . .." She gazed   
down at Stu's rocky grave, blinking.  
  
"He loved these caves, Scully, and all the legends surrounding them. It's how he   
would have wanted it." Mulder placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.  
  
He expected her to shrug it away, but she did not react at all to the gesture.   
Slowly, she nodded. "I- I guess you're right. I just feel so badly. He was such   
a sweet old man."  
  
"A bawdy ole fart is more like it. He made Frohike look like a schoolboy."  
  
She grinned. "Which is probably why you liked him so much."  
  
"I think it's you he had the soft spot for. What is it with you and dirty old   
men, Scully?"  
  
"I suggest you ask yourself the same question in a few years, Mulder," she   
replied, though her tone was light. "Good-bye, Uncle Stu. May you rest in   
peace."  
  
"May the spirit of the cave's Kahuna watch over you," Mulder added.  
  
After several long moments of silence, Scully spoke. "You ready to try to find a   
way out of here?"  
  
It still amazed him how she was able to turn her emotions on and off so easily--  
as though she had a switch to control them. "Yeah, let's blow this joint."  
  
He followed Scully to where she stood carefully peering over the edge of the   
incline they had traversed. "Well, I don't think we'll be going back the way we   
came," she remarked matter-of-factly. With the combined luminescence of both of   
their flashlights, they were able to discern that much of the facade had   
collapsed, leaving precious few hand- or footholds intact. "Our best bet is   
probably to try to continue the way we were headed."  
  
"Yeah, except the way we were headed has since been occupied by Uncle Stu and   
several tons of igneous rock," Mulder pointed out.  
  
"Wasn't there another tunnel around here somewhere?" Scully began to slowly pan   
the walls with her flashlight.  
  
"Over there, I think," Mulder said, directing his own beam to a far corner. Sure   
enough, when they moved closer, they could make out a small opening in the rock   
pile. It looked to be about a foot-and-a-half wide and slightly less in height.   
"Eureka."  
  
"That's going to be an awfully tight fit," Scully said, eying the nook warily.  
  
"And I suppose you've got a better idea?"  
  
She pursed her lips in annoyance. "All right. I'll go first. Give me a boost,   
will you?" she asked.  
  
"One boost, coming right up." Bending his knees until he was in a crouch, Mulder   
interlaced his fingers and nodded to Scully.  
  
Holding onto his shoulders to steady herself, she stepped into the make-shift   
stirrups. "On three? One . . . two . . . three!"  
  
"You've . . . erg . . .been having . . . mph . . . more of those .. . oomph . .   
. tofutti rice dreamsicles again . . . hmph . . . huh, Scully?" Mulder asked,   
grunting and groaning, as he lifted her upwards.  
  
"Shut up, Mulder," she replied as she grabbed onto the edge of the hole and   
hoisted herself towards it.  
  
"Make sure you get a good look before you let go," Mulder warned her. "Could be   
a doosey of a first step."  
  
"I've got that covered," she said, already pointing her flashlight through the   
hole.  
  
"Can you make anything out?"  
  
"I can see ground about six feet below," she called back, her voice somewhat   
muffled as she stuck her head through the opening.  
  
"Does the tunnel lead through?"  
  
"Hard to tell," she replied. "This flashlight doesn't have much reach. It looks   
like there's an open passageway. But I'll have to get closer to be sure." She   
started to pull her torso through the hole.  
  
"Be careful, Scully. Don't go taking a nose dive onto the cave floor." If she   
responded, Mulder did not hear her. Shining his flashlight upwards in her   
direction, all he could see was the retreating form of her lower half.  
  
To some, it may have looked as though Scully were being swallowed by a giant   
prehistoric creature that had been residing in these rocky depths for eons. To   
others it might appear that she were disappearing through a black hole, passing   
into some other dimension. But not to Fox Mulder. Despite his proclivity for   
catering to such theories, metaphysical thoughts never crossed his mind as he   
watched his partner disappear.  
  
Rather, he just stood there admiring the view. After all, it was not every day   
he got to watch her little ass wiggle in her snug jeans as she tried to squeeze   
through a gap in a cave wall.  
  
  
End Chapter 3  
  
  
***** 


	4. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 04/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
  
"Scully?" Mulder called. It had been several minutes since she had disappeared   
completely through the hole in the cave wall and he was starting to get   
concerned. "Scully, can you hear me?" he asked, shining his flashlight through   
the hole and trying to get a glimpse of her. "Scul--!"  
  
All of a sudden, he was hit square in the eyes with a bright beam of light   
coming from the other side of the wall. Hearing Scully shout his name, he   
realized that it was that damned flashlight of hers again.  
  
"For Christ's sake, Scully, are you hell bent on blinding me?!" he snapped,   
closing his eyes and trying to regain his bearings.  
  
"Well, who told you to go sticking your head through there?" she chastised.  
  
"I wouldn't have had to if you'd have answered me the first time I called you!"  
  
"I was checking to see if there was a way out."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"Well, is there a goddammed way out or not?"  
  
"There's a path that seems to go on for quite a distance."  
  
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"  
  
"You didn't ask."  
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake. . . . Now she thinks she's a bloody comedienne," he   
muttered under his breath.  
  
"What'd you say, Mulder?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Well then, what the hell are you waiting for? Come on through so we can get   
moving."  
  
"Only if you promise to catch me when I jump."  
  
He could almost hear the scowl in her voice. "Just shut up and move your ass,   
Mulder."  
  
Mulder pulled himself up to the opening in the cave wall and squeezed through   
the hole. Once through, he turned his body around, carefully readjusting his   
hand holds until his chest hugged the stone wall and his legs were dangling   
towards the ground. "Look out below!" he called a moment before letting go. He   
jumped the remaining half-yard, and landed easily on his feet. He turned around   
to face Scully, throwing his arms up in the air in imitation of a gymnast's   
finish. "What do you think? Perfect ten, or what?"  
  
Shaking her head, Scully sighed. "Eight-point-seven. Your dismount was a bit   
sloppy. Now," she said, pointing her flashlight across the cavern, "can we   
please get the hell out of here?"  
  
"Lead the way, kemosabe."  
  
Without another word, Scully headed toward the passageway. Mulder silently fell   
in step beside her. Together, they headed down the path, which they hoped would   
eventually lead them back to the surface.  
  
After twenty minutes or so of hiking, Scully brought them to a halt. "You have a   
compass in that bag, Mulder?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so." He slipped his arm through one of the straps of the backpack   
and unzipped it. He then produced the instrument she requested. Scully took it   
from him.  
  
"I thought so," she said, studying the compass. "The entrance is northeast.   
We're going southwest--deeper into the cave."  
  
"Well, hopefully the path will loop back around."  
  
"Hopefully," she agreed, pocketing the compass. "Although it's not as though we   
have much choice."  
  
They resumed their journey. It was becoming increasingly humid, and both agents   
were soon sweating from the exertion of their hike. Here and there, the pahoehoe   
flows had solidified, creating smooth, billowy facades on the walls and floor.   
Interspersed between the regions of seemingly fluid-like rock surfaces was the   
occasional region of rough, jagged spines.  
  
Mulder was content to admire the natural formations surrounding them as they   
walked, but it seemed that his partner had other matters on her mind.  
  
"So, what exactly are we looking for here, Mulder? What sort of clues do you   
hope to find?"  
  
"Well, if I could answer that question, then we wouldn't have to be here, now   
would we?" he replied with a grin.  
  
Scully was not so easily amused. "Lord give me strength," she murmured.  
  
"Besides, I don't know if it's anything physical. Whatever killed those kids may   
not have left any tangible evidence for a good reason: the killer herself may   
not be corporeal."  
  
"Mulder, you don't honestly believe all this talk about the cave being haunted   
by an angry Kahuna, do you?"  
  
"Scully, these legends are as much a part of Hawaiian religious history as   
stories of the death and resurrection of a man, or of the Red Sea being parted   
are to Judeo-Christian. You have your brand of faith, and these people have   
theirs."  
  
"I suppose. It's just . . . all this talk of a man slighted in love cursing the   
object of his affections and her preferred suitor . . . lovers dying together   
and spending all eternity in a cave . . . it's the talk of fairy tales, and   
romance novels. And I'm sure it's brought countless tourists to these caves.   
Young newlyweds on their honeymoons, couples on vacation. All seeking to spice   
up the romance a bit by coming to the place where Meleahana and her lover   
supposedly perished together. Uncle Stu probably made up the story himself just   
to build up his business." Despite her incredulous tone, Mulder could still   
sense a hint of wistfulness in Scully's voice.  
  
"I'm sure the story has been around much longer than Uncle Stu," Mulder said.   
"As to whether or not it's true . . . well, that's why it's called a legend. But   
Kahunas still exist. And from what I've read, they're not the kinda people you'd   
want to piss off."  
  
"Or else they'll curse you, huh?"  
  
"Let me put it this way: if a Kahuna starts belting out a tune, you know your   
number's up."  
  
"Hmm, that's funny, because that's exactly how I feel whenever you start singing   
along to the radio. . . ."  
  
"I've got four words for you, Scully: 'Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog'."  
  
Scully cleared her throat in annoyance. "Well, lucky for you I'm not a Kahuna,   
huh?"  
  
"Or maybe your spell did away with a few mothmen."  
  
"Maybe. Better not piss me off anytime soon, Mulder, or you might end up a limp   
peel with some withered old coconuts." And with that, she continued walking down   
the path.  
  
Mulder stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. His seemingly prudish partner   
never ceased to amaze him. Did she actually just offer a joke? Or was it merely   
another attempt to give him a verbal jab? He decided that her comment a good   
sign that perhaps she was finally coming around. All he had to do was keep her   
talking--preferably centering on light and humorous conversation--and maybe they   
could get back on track.  
  
With newfound determination, Mulder hastened to catch up to Scully. He fell in   
step beside her. As they continued on in silence for the next few minutes he   
searched for the right topic. He ultimately decided to pick up where he had left   
off.  
  
"That knife to the heart Meleahana succumbed to could probably be considered   
humane compared to what would have happened to her had she fallen victim to one   
of Hi'akono's curses," Mulder said, hoping his remark was sufficiently   
intriguing to catch the attention of Scully's natural sense of curiosity.  
  
Scully sighed. "Okay, Mulder, I'll bite. Tell me more about these Kahuna   
curses."  
  
"The official term is 'Kahuna death magick', Scully, and apparently it's pretty   
potent stuff. And it's funny that you should use the word 'bite'. . . ."  
  
He paused a beat before continuing. "There are plenty of stories of these   
priests praying people to death," Mulder explained. "One such spell is called   
the 'Bite of Ka-moho-ali'i'. While many of the chants call upon the assistance   
of a god or goddess, this one uses material objects. Some item, such as an axe   
or a knife or even something seemingly innocuous like a belt buckle is used to   
literally tear flesh from the victim's bones. The extent of the victim's wounds   
depends upon the priest's casting ability."  
  
"Well, maybe Scott and Kilikina were bitten to death," Scully suggested, though   
her tone revealed her disbelief.  
  
"Nibbling earlobes maybe, but if it was the spell, there'd still be bits and   
pieces of flesh lying around. Not to mention plenty of blood. No, I'd sooner say   
they were killed by the Fires of Pele."  
  
"Pele, huh? Isn't that the volcano goddess Stu mentioned earlier?"  
  
"Uh huh. The Kahuna chants a spell which calls upon Pele's assistance."  
  
"Let me guess . . . Pele manifests in the form of molten lava and flows over the   
victim," Scully offered.  
  
"Close. Pele herself doesn't appear. Rather, she just offers a sort of . . .   
spiritual guidance."  
  
"Divine intervention, you mean?"  
  
"I guess you could say that. Anyway, the victim experiences a searing pain as   
though being burned alive. All he or she can do is writhe around and scream in   
agony for as long as the spell is in effect."  
  
"Sounds lovely. But I don't think that's what killed Scott or Kilikina either."  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"The ground around their skeletons was hardly disturbed. If they had been   
writhing around in agony, the dirt would have been tossed around--there'd be   
grooves gouged in the surface by their convulsing extremities. Not to mention   
the fact that the bodies would have been in contorted positions."  
  
Mulder considered her pronouncement a moment. "Good point, Scully," he   
acquiesced. "Well, I suppose there's always the good ole fashioned Death Chant,   
like the one Meleahana accidentally cast upon her lover."  
  
When she did not oppose his lead in, he continued. "This spell requires the   
Kahuna to literally sing the victim to death. It involves an elaborate series of   
prayers that are chanted either over the victim himself, or a part of him. This   
part can range from a lock of hair or a fingernail clipping to a severed limb.   
It's a long and complex spell that takes hours to perform, the speed of the   
results being dependent upon the caster's level of success. But even for the   
most accomplished Kahuna, the incantation does not manifest immediately--at   
least the effects aren't noticed right away. Ultimately, the target of the spell   
will slowly wither up and die."  
  
"I don't know, Mulder," Scully said. "All these curses and death spells, fiery   
volcano goddesses and angry cave spirits. . . . Aren't there any good spirits?"  
  
"Sure, Scully. There's the aumakua, the ancestral guardian spirits of a Hawaiian   
ohana, or family. In the Hawaiian culture, members of an ohana include blood   
relatives, non-blood kin who are accepted by the family, deceased members of the   
ohana, and the aumakua--"  
  
Entranced by his own words, Mulder was not very aware of the direction he was   
headed. He veered off to the side, his arm brushing against an outcropping in   
the cave wall. He loosened a piece of rock, and a small shower of stone fell   
towards the ground. The vibration disturbed a trio of bats that had been perched   
several feet above them. With high-pitched screeches, the frightened creatures   
took to the air--straight towards Mulder and Scully.  
  
Mulder gave a yelp of surprise and dropped to the ground, throwing his arms   
instinctively around his face and head. Similarly startled, Scully, too cried   
out as she fell to her knees, arms flailing wildly in an attempt to swat the   
animals away.  
  
Both agents remained in their prone positions until the dust had settled and the   
bats were apparently gone.  
  
Mulder slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Geez, that was a close   
one, huh, Scul--" Her name caught in his throat when he got a glimpse of his   
partner. She stood not a foot away, hands planted firmly on hips, scowling. What   
froze him in his tracks, however, were her eyes. How they could be both cold as   
ice and blazing with unbridled fury he could not fathom. Not that she gave him   
much of a chance to ponder the matter. "--ly?" he finished in a whisper.  
  
"Of all the stupid, careless, idiotic stunts to pull! You could have gotten us   
both killed!"  
  
"Chill out, Scully. They didn't even touch us."  
  
"For your information, Mulder, bats' teeth are like little needles. Half the   
time people don't even realize they've been bitten, especially since the bites   
rarely leave any marks."  
  
"Well, a little nibble never hurt anyone."  
  
"Oh, and I suppose you've never heard of a little virus called rabies? It's been   
suggested that it can be transmitted by aerosol. So even if they didn't bite us,   
because these caves are so heavily populated and so damned humid, if present,   
the virus is probably in such high concentrations that after moving the air   
around like this we're sure to be infected."  
  
Mulder slowly shook his head. "Granted, it is true that most cases of humans   
contracting the rabies virus in the continental United States have been   
attributed to contact with bats. However, rabies has been reported in all states   
except one. Care to guess which one that might be?" He paused only a beat.   
"That's right. Hawaii. So if you start foaming at the mouth, Scully, you're   
going to have to find an excuse other than a rabid bat."  
  
Scully's eyes narrowed, her ire for being bested on the accuracy of medically-  
related facts obvious. "Bats? Bats! I'm not just upset about a couple of   
goddamned bats, Mulder! There's also the matter of your being so hypnotized by   
the sound of your own goddamned fucking voice that you weren't paying attention   
to where you were going! If you want to be so oblivious to your goddamned   
surroundings that you walk off the edge of a cliff, then fine, go ahead. Be my   
guest I'd be glad for the peace and quiet! But I'll be damned if I'm going to   
just stand by and watch you walk into the goddamned fucking walls and cause   
another goddamned fucking cave-in and bury us both alive!"  
  
Scully apparently had either run out of words or out of breath, because she   
paused in her vehement tirade. She stood there, chest heaving, eyes shooting   
daggers at Mulder, her body shaking in silent outrage.  
  
During his lifetime, Mulder had faced his share of psychotic serial killers,   
deranged lunatics, and genetic mutants. All paled in comparison to the visage of   
his enraged partner.  
  
As he was wont to do when he was afraid or uncomfortable, Mulder tried to   
diffuse the tension in his characteristic manner. "A couple of pebbles do not a   
cave-in make. What's the matter, Scully--feeling a little claustrophobic?"  
  
"That's it! I've had it up to here with you!" she spat, holding her hand up over   
her head. "I refuse to stand here and listen to you make lame excuses for your   
reckless behavior! I do not appreciate your making light of a very serious and   
life-threatening situation where the actions of one of us so greatly affect the   
other! And I sure as hell refuse to stand idly by while you patronize me! I am   
your goddammed fucking partner! As such, I am entitled to some goddammed fucking   
respect! And if I can't get it here, then I'm sure as hell not going to stick   
around a second longer!" With that, she turned on her heel and strode down the   
path.  
  
Panic gripped Mulder's heart--partly with the notion of having to navigate his   
way out of the cave alone--but also at the thought of Scully walking out of his   
life. "Scully, wait!" he called, heading towards her. He sure as hell was not   
going to let her leave without a fight.  
  
"Why should I, Mulder?" she growled, turning around to face him. "Give me one   
good reason why I should stick around."  
  
"Well, for starters, there's the fact that two of us working together have a   
better chance of getting out of here alive than either of us alone." He took a   
step towards her.  
  
Scully immediately started to backtrack. "Is that the best you can do, Mulder? I   
thought for sure you were going to say my scientific knowledge was still vital   
to solving this case." She took another step backwards. "That's all I am to you,   
right, Mulder? A means to an end?"  
  
"Scully, don't--"  
  
"Don't go? Thanks for the sentiment, Mulder, but it's a bit too little too late.   
I've made up my mind. Feel free to beg . . . Not that I'm planning to hold my   
breath on that one. . . ." She took another few steps backwards.  
  
"Scully, wait!" he called, reaching for her even as he quickened his pace.  
  
"Stay back! Don't you touch me!" she shouted, holding up a warning hand, as she   
quickened her retreat. But when she took her next step, her foot continued   
downward past where she expected the ground to be.  
  
In her haste to get away from Mulder, she had not noticed how the path she had   
been following abruptly ended, the small ledge it formed hidden in the shadows.   
Less than two feet below, another trail continued in the same direction--albeit   
at a downward pitch.  
  
Scully's arms pin-wheeled about helplessly as she struggled to maintain her   
balance on the ledge. It was no use, though; with a small cry, she tumbled   
backwards. There was a loud boom as she made contact with the ground. Because of   
her momentum, however--along with the downward pitch of the ground--she did not   
stop there. Rather, she went rolling feet-over-head down the bumpy path, all the   
while banging into small pieces of stone of various sizes.  
  
"Scully!" Mulder shouted. Seeing her precariously balanced on the edge of the   
path, he had sprinted toward her in what he knew would be a futile attempt to   
catch her before she went plummeting over the ledge.  
  
He ran toward the edge, catching himself before he went tumbling after her. For   
a moment he stood as though transfixed, watching helplessly as she plunged down   
the incline like a sack of potatoes. She quickly fell past the reach of his   
flashlight's beam. Only when he heard a sickening thud along with a sharp bark   
of pain did he know she had come to an abrupt halt.  
  
Those two heart-rending sounds snapped him out of his daze. "Scully!" he   
shouted, quickly lowering himself over the ledge and sprinting down the path.   
For a moment, he skidded, and feared that he would follow suit.  
  
*You won't do her a damned bit of good if you go tumbling and crash into her,*   
he mentally chided himself.  
  
He had to will himself to slow down and proceed more carefully. "Scully, are you   
okay? Scully, can you hear me?"  
  
Visions of a broken, battered, bloodied Scully filled his mind's eye. Was she   
conscious? Was she even breathing? Dare he even wonder if she were still alive?  
  
Hearing a low groan, he realized in relief that the answer to all three   
questions was the affirmative. Approaching his fallen partner, Mulder shone the   
light down in her direction. And his breath caught in his throat.  
  
Nothing on earth could have prepared him for the sight that greeted his   
unsuspecting eyes.  
  
  
End Chapter 4 


	5. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 05/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
  
You find yourself falling down  
Your hopes in the sky  
But your heart like grape gum on the ground  
  
  
Scully lay on her back, spread-eagle, arms at her sides. Though her limbs were   
bent awkwardly around her, none were set in an unnatural position. For a moment   
it looked as though she were not breathing. But from the subsequent rapid rise   
and fall of her chest--an effort that was not too terribly labored--it became   
apparent that she had merely had the wind knocked out of her. Though slightly   
off-kilter, her hard hat still remained in place, having protected her head from   
serious injury during her fall. Unfortunately, it did not do much to shield her   
from her surroundings.  
  
As she began to stir, her limbs made small furrows in the ground. What Mulder   
had assumed to be a whitish-gray dirt or ash now appeared to be some sort of   
viscous, opaque substance. Scully lay in an enormous pool of the stuff; no doubt   
it coated her entire backside.  
  
The sight of Scully flailing her arms and legs conjured the image of a child   
trying to make a snow angel on the cave floor.  
  
Groaning again, Scully struggled to lift her head. The beam of his flashlight   
caught her right in the face, and she blinked as though trying to clear her   
vision. "M-Mulder . . . ? Issat you . . . ?" she called out, her voice hoarse.  
  
Mulder cleared his throat before replying. "You were expecting someone else,   
Scully? The caped crusader, perhaps?" When she did not respond, he moved the   
beam to focus on her face. "Are you okay, Scully?"  
  
"I just fell over a ledge and tumbled fifty feet down the steep, rocky path of a   
goddammed underground cave! What do you think?"  
  
"Well, does anything hurt?"  
  
"*Everything* hurts!" "Does anything hurt more than the rest?"  
  
"Yeah, my ears--from having to listen to you! Are you just gonna stand there   
looking pretty all day, Mulder, or what? Give me a hand here." She attempted to   
sit up.  
  
For some reason, Mulder seemed hesitant about getting any closer. "Uhm, Scully,   
maybe you should lie still. We should make sure nothing's broken."  
  
"I'm a goddamned doctor, Mulder! I'd know if something were broken. I was damned   
lucky that I landed in soft dirt--kind of."  
  
*How to break the news to her gently?* Mulder wondered. *Be direct. Scully   
always appreciates people being frank with her.* "Uh, Scully . . . it's, uhm . .   
. it's not dirt."  
  
"What do you mean it's not dirt? Of course it's dirt."  
  
She had just managed to raise her torso. Now, as she sat with her arms extended   
straight behind her, she started to shift her weight, intending to get up. But   
one of her hands slipped out from beneath her, and she fell back to the side,   
her shoulder making contact with the ground. One would have expected a thud and   
a yelp of pain. Instead, the impact was remarkably cushioned. Which made Scully   
begin to wonder why the ground was warm. And what on earth was that odd smell--  
an almost bitter odor?  
  
Scully raised her hand, saw that it was covered in some sort of peculiar paste.   
"What the hell?" Rubbing her fingers together, it felt almost slimy. She brought   
it cautiously toward her face, took a careful whiff. Her noise wrinkled almost   
immediately in mild disgust. Though not an overpowering stench, there was   
definitely a foul undertone to the material. Looking to her left and then her   
right, Scully realized that she was sitting in a large pile of the paste. A   
quick glance to the nearest wall revealed several large mounds of the same   
substance--only there it appeared to have hardened over time. "But if it's not   
dirt. . . ." She looked up at Mulder imploringly.  
  
He, in turn, looked upward to the cave roof, shining his flashlight to a far   
corner directly above the mounds. Scully followed his gaze to a group of furry   
creatures that were huddled together, hanging upside down.  
  
"Remember Miller's Grove, Scully? And a certain exploding factory?"  
  
Scully looked from the bats to Mulder back to the bats and then down at her   
hand. Suddenly, realization dawned. Her eyes became round as saucers and her   
face drained of all color. "Oh . . . shit!"  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"You mean to tell me that I'm sitting here in a giant pile of . .." she   
swallowed, repulsed by the mere thought, "of bat turds?"  
  
"Guano, Scully," Mulder corrected. "The more precise term is bat *guano*."  
  
"Shit, Mulder! I'm laying in a pile of bat shit! As much as I'd love to argue   
semantics with you all day, I'd appreciate it if you'd do something to help get   
me up and the hell out of it!"  
  
Mulder made a face as he took a few cautious steps toward her. "Did you know   
that deposits of dried bat droppings have been known to accumulate to depths of   
over thirty meters in some caves?"  
  
"You're going to be lying at the bottom of one of those piles if you don't hurry   
up!" she spat, impatiently holding an outstretched hand in his direction.  
  
In the process of reaching for her, Mulder stopped and stared at her guano-  
covered palm.  
  
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Mulder! A little shit never hurt anybody!"  
  
"That's a *lot* of shit, Scully."  
  
"Mulder, in the time I have known you, you have been covered in bile, oil, green   
slime, sea water, dirt--to say nothing of all the blood, sweat, tears, and   
countless other bodily fluids that have been on your person. Not once did I ever   
run in the other direction. And I also seem to remember a story involving a so-  
called space ship in the Antarctic, where you claimed to have emptied quite a   
bit of alien goo out of me."  
  
"That was a matter of life and death."  
  
"You're the one who's going to be dead, Mulder, just as soon as I reach my gun.   
. . ."  
  
"Okay, okay. I'm coming. Just try to be neat about it, Scully," he said as he   
planted his feet on either side of her outstretched legs and held out his hands   
to her. "This is a brand-new windbreaker."  
  
Irate, Scully reached past his hands and grasped his wrists--including the cuffs   
of his jacket--and started to pull herself up. She had almost made it to her   
feet when her boot slipped.  
  
"Easy, Scully, I've got you." Mulder reached to grab her before she could fall   
again. But because of the guano covering her arms, she started to slide right   
through his fingers.  
  
Feeling herself slipping, Scully reached out for her partner to steady herself.   
She succeeded in grabbing fistfuls of his windbreaker, but her guano-covered   
fingers made her grasp tenuous.  
  
Mulder tried to adjust his stance, but because of the slippery nature of the   
manure, he started to lose what little traction he had. Had it just been his own   
weight he was supporting, he could have easily righted himself. But having   
Scully attached to him threw off his center of gravity. Even as he tried to   
compensate, his partner continued to flail about.  
  
"Scully, relax before we--eeyowch!" She suddenly yanked hard on his right arm,   
and Mulder yelped in pain. The muscles of his shoulder were still not completely   
healed from his recent gunshot wound.  
  
By that time, it was already too late. Even as she tumbled back toward the   
ground, Scully's hold on Mulder, though not sufficient to keep her upright, was   
nonetheless strong enough to pull him off-balance. Together they fell, landing   
with a loud *splat!*.  
  
Mulder lay there belly-down, his face fortunately having landed on the   
cushioned--and nearly unsoiled--bosom of his partner. Normally, he would have   
taken the time to appreciate such a makeshift pillow, but the warm sensation of   
bat droppings surrounding his arms and legs took precedence in his thoughts.  
  
"Goddammit, Mulder! Can't you do anything right?"  
  
"Me? *You're* the one who pulled *me* down, Scully."  
  
"It's not like I did it on purpose, Mulder."  
  
"That's a matter of debate," he muttered, raising his head.  
  
Scully also lifted her head to look her partner in the eye. "Are you purporting   
that I purposely pulled you into a pile of poop?"  
  
His eyes narrowed contemptuously. "Perhaps."  
  
His deadpan expression lasted only a few seconds. The ensuing toothy grin with   
which he graced her--complete with a small splattering of guano on his cheek--  
made Scully smile despite herself. The inaneness of their current circumstances   
caused her anger to quickly melt away. How was it, she wondered, that she and   
Mulder always managed to get themselves into the most ridiculous predicaments?  
  
"Do you know what it is we're swimming in here, Scully?"  
  
That was a no-brainer. "The excrement of flying mammals?"  
  
"Yes, but it's not just manure."  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"No, it's much, much more. We're sitting on a veritable gold mine here, Scully."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"Because bat guano, my dear Scully, is the greatest fertilizer ever known."  
  
Scully's brow furrowed as she stared at her partner, waiting for the inevitable   
punchline. It never came. "Your point being?"  
  
"My point being that if we were to sell this stuff, we could retire early."  
  
"Oh, sure, Mulder. Let me go grab my shovel and some plastic bags."  
  
"I'm serious, Scully. Bat guano has been utilized for centuries in areas of   
South America precisely because it's richer in nitrogen, phosphorus, and   
potassium than other types of manure. Because bats eat insects, their wastes   
contain the perfect balance of nutrients necessary for the establishment and   
maintenance of fertile soil. The organic matter found in guano includes soil-  
building amino acids and other microorganisms that contribute to soil health.   
Guano is actually safer, cleaner, and easier to use than blood meal--and it will   
produce far better results. And unlike other manures, it won't burn roots."  
  
Scully stared at him, nonplused. "Mulder, you can't even keep your fish alive.   
Since when do you garden?"  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Then how do you know all this crap?"  
  
Mulder smiled at her unintentional pun. "You'd be surprised at the things you   
can learn from your television in the middle of the night."  
  
Scully scowled. "National Geographic?"  
  
He shook his head. "You, too, can own the greatest fertilizer ever known to man   
for the low, low price of only twenty-nine-ninety-five," Mulder droned in his   
best talk-show host voice. "Plus eight-ninety-five shipping and handling.   
Colorado residents add sales tax."  
  
Scully's eyes rolled heaven-wards.  
  
"Just look at us, Scully," Mulder said, holding up a guano-covered sleeve.   
"We're covered in the latest, greatest money-making object."  
  
Scully chuckled softly. "Mulder, you've finally gone over the deep end."  
  
"You jest, Scully, but I'm perfectly serious. There's a real market for this   
stuff. It's been incredibly difficult to find a good, dependable source for this   
well-balanced fertilizer."  
  
"And you think we've found a veritable fountain of it here?" she asked, not even   
bothering to hide her incredulous laughter any more.  
  
"Hell yeah. I'm telling you, Scully, together we could make a real killing.   
Battles have been fought over this stuff."  
  
That was the last straw. Scully threw her head back and howled at the absurdity   
of it all. Here they were, having been trapped by a cave-in, wandering   
underground, no clue where they were or how to get out. And now they were lying   
together in pile of bat shit talking about making an infomercial to sell the   
stuff? How far had she come--how low had she sunk--in the six-plus years she had   
been a field agent?  
  
So few were the times that he had heard Scully laugh with such careless abandon   
that the sound of her goofy giggling actually gave Mulder a moment's pause. But   
only a moment, for it was contagious, and he too was soon laughing along with   
her. It brought back memories of simpler, happier times--of a rainy night in an   
Oregon cemetery, and a similarly stormy night spent in the sheltered warmth of   
Scully's apartment and her arms. Any thoughts of a troubled partnership had   
since fallen to the wayside as they reveled in a shared joke.  
  
"Forget the Ab Roller, Scully," Mulder muttered in between chuckles. "Your   
future is with bat guano--the safest, most versatile fertilizer known to man.   
What did that ad say? Oh yeah--'it's virtually foolproof'!"  
  
"Foolproof, huh?" she asked, searching for a clean finger to wipe the tears from   
her eyes. "I remember reading an article in a recent _JAMA_ which claimed that   
some workers were exposed to _Histoplasma capsulatum_ while removing bat guano   
from a church's attic. Apparently, they gota nasty pulmonary infection from   
inhaling aerosolized bat guano dust."  
  
Mulder sniffled. "Great. Just what we need."  
  
"Don't worry, Mulder. That's the old, dried up guano. Not this fresh stuff," she   
said, reaching to wipe his cheek. All she succeeded in doing, however, was   
smearing more onto his face. "Oops. Sorry about that."  
  
"What's a little poop among friends, huh?" He reached for her face, but she   
quickly grabbed his wrist and held it away from her.  
  
"Uh uh, Mulder. Those grubby paws are not going anywhere near my face. Now,   
could you please get off of me? I think you're starting to collapse a lung   
here."  
  
Mulder carefully rose to his feet. He looked down at himself and saw that, just   
as he had suspected, it was mainly the shins of his jeans and the sleeves of his   
jacket that had been soiled. As he took Scully's hands and pulled her to her   
feet, he saw that she had fared far worse: her entire backside was coated in   
dung, and her sides and front had several large splatters of the stuff.  
  
"It could be worse," Mulder said, offering her a small hand towel from his   
backpack.  
  
"What, you mean I could be covered in it from head to toe?" Scully asked, wiping   
off her hands.  
  
"Nah. I was gonna say you could really reek. Luckily, the stuff doesn't have too   
much of an odor--especially as it dries."  
  
"Thank God for small favors," Scully muttered, folding the towel and tucking it   
into her jacket pocket. "Well, I guess we should get moving again."  
  
"Did you lose your flashlight?"  
  
She nodded. "Yep. We're down to just yours. Lead on, MacDuff."  
  
Mulder headed toward the tunnel they had been following before Scully took her   
spill. The path was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, and they soon   
fell into a steady pace.  
  
"You know, I think I remember reading a news article last summer about a   
building in Chicago exploding," Mulder remarked. "The cause of the blast was   
initially attributed to bat guano."  
  
"Don't tell me: spontaneous combustion?"  
  
"Yup. But here's the kicker: there has never been any reported case of bio-gas   
forming nor igniting from bat guano found in man-made structures, let alone in   
nature itself."  
  
"So it was never proven?"  
  
"The official cause of the explosion was ultimately ruled to be sewer gas."  
  
"Hmph." Scully pondered for a moment. "Hey, Mulder, speaking of gas--"  
  
"Wasn't me."  
  
Oblivious, Scully did not lose a beat. "Do you think some sort of naturally   
forming bio-gas could have been the cause of the kids' deaths?"  
  
"What, you think a stash of bat guano had been releasing methane gas into the   
air? That maybe they lit a match, and the accumulated bio-gas ignited, causing a   
fatal explosion?"  
  
"That's what I'm suggesting, yes."  
  
Mulder mulled the idea over thoughtfully, but from the way he was chewing on his   
bottom lip, Scully realized he was trying hard not to laugh.  
  
"God, that does sound ludicrous, doesn't it?"  
  
"Improbable, maybe, but not ludicrous. No, ludicrous would be suggesting that   
Scott or Kilikina had fatally flammable flatulence."  
  
"Death from farting fire?" she asked, incredulous.  
  
Nodding, Mulder could not help but laugh, and Scully joined him. They continued   
walking in companionable silence. After a while, Mulder offered Scully the   
flashlight, and she proceeded to take the lead. About fifteen minutes later,   
Scully brought them to an abrupt halt.  
  
"Scully, what--?"  
  
"Shh," she whispered. "Mulder, do you hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" he asked, already reaching for his gun.  
  
She shook her head. "Just ahead. It sounds like--yes, I think it is. Oh, thank   
God!" Scully took off down the path at a brisk clip, leaving Mulder in the dark-  
-both literally and figuratively.  
  
  
End Chapter 5  
  
  
***** 


	6. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 06/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
"Scully, wait!" Mulder called, running to catch up with her. If she got much   
further ahead with the flashlight, he could easily take a bad step and hurt   
himself. When he started out, he could still make out her retreating silhouette   
in the beam of light. But after several yards, she ducked down and disappeared   
through a small opening in the cave wall.  
  
Cursing under his breath, Mulder crouched down sideways and squeezed himself   
though the narrow passageway. Seeing the light around a bend in the path, he   
gave chase. When he came around the turn, he nearly barreled into Scully, who   
now stood perfectly still.  
  
"What the hell's gotten into you, Scully?" he shouted. "You've got the only   
light source, and you took off out of there like a bat out of--"  
  
"Mulder, look!" she cut him off in a hushed tone. She was pointing straight   
ahead. "Just look at it!"  
  
Mulder's gaze followed her hand, and he felt his breath catch.  
  
"Is that not the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"  
  
"Pinch me, Scully. I want to make sure I'm not dreaming--and that's not a   
mirage."  
  
"That's no mirage, Mulder. That's an oasis."  
  
Somewhere, water dripped, and in the eerie quiet of the caves, it sounded   
preternaturally loud. Scully's attention, however, was focused on the sight of   
the underground lake. Its smooth glass-like surface beckoned to her. Without   
another word, Scully tucked the flashlight into the waistband of her jeans and   
strode forward toward the water. As she approached, the dripping formed a sharp   
staccato, creating a soothing melody that was punctuated only by the crunch of   
her boots against the cooled lava under her feet.  
  
Mulder quickly joined her at the foot of the lake and knelt down beside her.   
Somewhere a faint breeze wafted by, tossing a tendril of Scully's hair across   
her cheek. She reached down first, dipping her fingers into the cool water. They   
watched, entranced, as the surface rippled around the small disturbance. Finding   
the water refreshingly cool, Scully rinsed her hands the best she could. Next   
she brought her hand to her nose and inhaled. The water had no odor. Then she   
brought her fingers to her parched lips. No peculiar taste.  
  
She looked over at Mulder, who had been watching her intently. Slowly, a smile   
crept across her face, and she nodded okay.  
  
Almost as one, they reached downward. Cupping the cool water in their hands,   
they quickly drank mouthful after greedy mouthful. It was the first drink they   
had had since Uncle Stu had shared his canteen with them shortly before the   
cave-in. As hot and tired and dirty as they were right now, it tasted sweeter   
than the very nectar of the gods.  
  
When her thirst was finally satiated, Scully silently removed her soiled   
windbreaker. Taking the towel from the pocket, she dunked it in the water and   
wrung it out before bathing her face with the cool liquid. She sighed at how   
refreshing it felt to her flushed skin. She used the cloth on her face, neck,   
the area of her chest not covered by her v-necked tee-shirt, her arms. Before   
long, she felt sufficiently cooled. She dipped the cloth again, and this time   
took to scrubbing away the dirt and grime the best she could.  
  
She turned to see what her partner was up to, and only then noticed the way he   
was staring at her, enraptured. She blushed, embarrassed at being the focus of   
his scrutiny.  
  
Avoiding his gaze, she offered him the towel. "Your turn," she said, focusing on   
the lake at her feet.  
  
Mulder quickly pulled his own jacket off over his head. "Thanks," he replied,   
taking the towel from her. As he started to clean himself off, Scully turned her   
attention to trying to get the guano off of her windbreaker.  
  
After many minutes of scrubbing, she realized it was about as clean as it was   
going to get without the benefit of soap. Spying a large flat rock a few yards   
away, Scully walked over to it and spread her jacket on the surface to dry.   
Then, putting down the flashlight, she perched herself beside the jacket,   
drawing her knees up to her chest and gazing out at the lake. After several   
moments, she felt her eyelids growing heavy. Not having enough energy to fight   
it, Scully folded her arms on her knees and lay her head on top, closing her   
eyes.  
  
"This seat taken?"  
  
Scully looked up to see Mulder standing before her, hands shoved into his jeans   
pockets. "All yours," she said, indicating the unoccupied portion of the rock on   
the other side of her.  
  
Mulder silently sat down beside her, clasping his hands between bent knees. He   
followed her gaze out to the lake. "Quite a view, huh?"  
  
"Sure is."  
  
"Good idea of yours to stop here for a while, Scully. I think we both needed the   
break."  
  
"Mmm hmm." She felt her eyes beginning to close yet again. What she wanted more   
than anything at that moment was to curl up on the rock and sleep for about   
three days.  
  
Mulder, it seemed, had other ideas.  
  
"So. Scully."  
  
Scully sighed. Obviously her partner was not going to let her take a quick   
catnap after all.  
  
"How'd it feel being back at Quantico?"  
  
Interesting. While he was on leave, Mulder must have done some checking into   
Scully's temporary reassignment. Did that mean he actually cared what she had   
been doing these past two weeks? More likely he was concerned with how it   
affected his precious X-Files. Well, it was time for Mulder to learn that she   
did not need him in order to function as an effective agent--that her having a   
successful career did not depend upon him or the X-Files.  
  
"Like going home again," she replied nonchalantly.  
  
"You've just been substituting for one of the regular profs?"  
  
Was that a hint of uncertainty she detected in his voice?  
  
"I accepted the teaching assignment as a favor to Dr. Craig, so that she could   
go visit her mother, who's taken ill. But I've actually enjoyed my stint at   
Quantico. It's been a welcome change of pace. I guess I've forgotten how   
rewarding it is being an instructor."  
  
"Thinking about taking up teaching again?" His tone was light, bordering on   
boredom. But she could tell from his rigid posture that the answer to his   
question mattered deeply to him.  
  
"Perhaps. There's a lot to be said for sharing one's knowledge, and helping to   
shape young minds. I've always found it very fulfilling."  
  
"Still, it must get old pretty quickly. Don't you miss autopsying the odd   
flukeman now and then?"  
  
"Ah, but how often does one come across such an unusual case? Teaching these   
kids, it's best to start with more recognizable specimens. It's similar to med   
school--you start with basic anatomy before dealing with pathology."  
  
"All the same, you must get bored. An experienced field agent like you, Scully,   
with your well-trained scientific background, needs the challenge of the   
unrecognizable oddities. . . . Admit it, I think they turn you on." Mulder gave   
her a sly, teasing look.  
  
Scully arched an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, nothing like a liver-eating mutant to get me   
all hot and bothered," she said, planting her arms behind her on the rock and   
leaning back on them in what she hoped to be a casual pose. "By the same token,   
all this talk about Kahunas and angry cave spirits must have you in desperate   
need of a cold shower," she retorted with a small grin.  
  
"Cold showers are my specialty," Mulder replied as he deliberately fell over   
backward into the pool of water with a loud *splash!*  
  
"Mulder!" Scully gasped, his unannounced exit taking her completely by surprise.   
Annoyed, she slowly shook her head, waiting for him to return so that she could   
rebuke him for his sophomoric behavior.  
  
When he did not resurface right away, however, she began to grow concerned.   
"Mulder?" she called, kneeling on the rock. She peered over the edge, into the   
lake at the spot where he had dove in. There was no sign of him. "Mulder!"  
  
*Where the hell is he?* she wondered. *His luck, the lake is only a few feet   
deep and he bashed his head in on an underwater rock. I really don't want to   
have to go diving in after hi--*  
  
"Bonsai!"  
  
Scully's mind registered the warcry along with the sound of water smashing   
against the rock, but she was not quick enough to react as Mulder broke the   
surface behind her, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her over the edge of   
the rock and into the water with him.  
  
She flailed about, coughing and sputtering, as she pushed away from him and   
tried to keep her head above water.  
  
"Cold showers and I are deep--" *splash* "--and trusted friends," he told her.  
  
"Mulder!" she shouted, trying to wipe the water from her eyes. "What the hell   
are you doing?"  
  
"Relax, Scully. After your little turd tumble, this little bath'll do you some   
good," she heard Mulder say a moment before she felt his arms snake around her   
torso, trying to submerge her in the lake.  
  
"Goddammit, Mulder! Let go of me!" she spat, struggling to get out of his grasp.  
  
"Not until you say Uncle, Scully," he said, holding her tight.  
  
"I said--*let go!*" she roared, clawing at his hands in an attempt to loosen his   
hold on her.  
  
"Not until you tell me you're not leaving the X-Files."  
  
She managed to slip one of her arms free and she quickly thrust it backwards,   
giving him a strong jab to the ribs with her elbow. "I wouldn't hold my breath   
if I were you," she warned him.  
  
Wounded more from her words than her blow, Mulder let her go. He felt the waves   
of water lap against his sodden jacket as Scully pulled away from him and waded   
toward the edge of the lake. Treading water, Mulder just stared at her as she   
began to wring the water from her hair and t-shirt. For a long moment he stared   
at her silhouette in the darkness. The silence became thunderous, roaring in his   
ears. Soon, he could stand it no longer.  
  
"Scully. . . ."  
  
"Not another word, Mulder."  
  
"But Scully--"  
  
"I don't want to talk about this right now."  
  
"When, then?" he asked as he followed her to dry land. "We're trapped alone in   
an underground cave on what could very well be our last case. When would you   
care to discuss it?"  
  
"Never would be too soon."  
  
"I can't believe you're going to let one stupid case come between us, Scully.   
Especially after all we've been through. We've always worked well together. You   
. . . center me, focus me, balance me. We make a great team. Always have. . . ."  
  
His voice faded into a low murmur as Scully watched his form gesture in the   
darkness through wet eyes. He was listing all the reasons--good logical reasons   
why they made great partners. But logic was not what she wanted to hear right   
now.  
  
"You're always backing me up, covering for me," he continued.  
  
"When you let me anyway," she reminded him, unable to hide the flare of jealousy   
from her voice.  
  
Mulder noticed her bitter tone, remembered it from their confrontation two weeks   
ago. Surely, she had said then all that there was to say on the matter. Talk   
about beating a dead horse. He could not believe that she was unwilling to let   
this issue drop. Why couldn't she just just let it go? If the tables were   
reversed, she would accuse him of being obsessed. Mulder felt his own anger   
flare at Scully's double standards.  
  
"Are you still upset over that detective, Scully?" he asked, his tone harsh.   
"I'm your partner, you know--not your date."  
  
Abruptly, Scully stiffened. *And to think I had thought of it as a dinner date.   
God, what a fool I've been,* she thought, angrily berating herself for indulging   
in naive schoolgirl fantasies.  
  
Slowly, she rose until she stood completely straight, and squared her shoulders.   
"Yes, Mulder, that's right. You're supposedly my partner. Which means when   
you're following a lead for a case, I expect to be informed of your whereabouts.   
As a friend, I didn't expect you to stand me up, to ditch me. I expect more from   
you. Hell, I *deserve* more from you. But you obviously don't even respect me   
enough to pick up your goddamned cell phone."  
  
"I thought I already apologized for that, Scully. But, come on now, let's be   
realistic adults here. I can't always be expected to drop you a note . . .   
sometimes there isn't enough time."  
  
"Mulder, you drove to the airport and took a flight to New York. There were   
plenty of opportunities. You just couldn't be bothered to call me. I guess you   
had other things on your mind."  
  
"Sometimes the goddamned cell phone gets lost, Scully!" Mulder walked over to   
her and towered over her in a tactic she had seen him use many-a-time to   
interrogate suspects. "And sometimes circumstances don't lend themselves to cell   
phone usage!"  
  
She was not about to let him intimidate her. Crossing her arms, she stared up at   
him and met his gaze with eyes that blazed in fury. "That's why God invented pay   
phones, Mulder. As your partner, I should have been notified. I should have been   
there, to back you up, to cover your ass. Instead, you left me to take the heat   
for Andraven's murder. But then again, you always seem to prefer to leave me to   
clean up the mess while you go gallivanting across the country."  
  
"I said I was sorry, Scully. I made a mistake! We can't all be as perfect as   
you, now can we?"  
  
"Mulder, I can forgive. But I can't forget. What's the point of acknowledging   
our mistakes if we don't attempt to learn from them? For over six years, we've   
done the same dance, fallen into the same old patterns, time and again. But I   
can't go on like this, turning a blind eye. I can't deal with not knowing where   
you are or what you're doing, if you're alive or dead. I've had it, Mulder. I   
refuse to do it anymore. I'm not your goddamned side-kick. If you can't treat me   
as an equal, then I'd say there's no partnership left to speak of."  
  
"Scully, I've always treated you as an equal."  
  
"Bull-fucking-shit!" she spat. "I can't keep doing this, Mulder. I give and I   
give and you take and you take. A partnership, a friendship, is a two-way   
street. There has to be an even exchange."  
  
"You're asking me to change who I am Scully. . . . I've tried but I don't always   
succeed. If you want more, I have nothing left to give."  
  
*If I want more. . . . Once upon a time, I did, Mulder. I wanted so much more   
from you. But it seems you've just proven that I've been living in a fantasy   
world.*  
  
"You obviously don't think you need my help then," she said quietly. "So maybe   
you'd be better off without me. I wouldn't want to hold you back."  
  
"Your holding me back has saved me from going over the edge, Scully. You've been   
my anchor, preventing me from going too far and taking that plunge into the deep   
dark unknown. Your science has legitimized the work, made it respectable.   
Together, we've brought attention to the X-Files, given it the notice, the   
official attention it deserves. I can't believe how easily you're willing to   
just walk away. . . ."  
  
"Do you really think I want to leave? I've got just as much invested in the work   
as you do, Mulder! I've lost just as much as you. I want the same answers you   
do. But not at the cost of everything--and everyone--else."  
  
"Scully, we are on the brink of finding proof to some of the underlying   
questions of human existence. I'm making a difference Scully--not like those FBI   
pencil pushers upstairs or all the little people doing their tiny insignificant   
good deeds. I'm talking about grand conspiracies, things bigger than either of   
us. You've seen it, Scully. You know what I'm talking about. How can you leave   
our work unfinished?"  
  
Scully nearly winced at the words. There was time when she thought that their   
relationship was the most important thing in Mulder's life. But how could she   
compare to a magnanimous lifequest? Who could possibly compete with a ghost?  
  
"See, Mulder, that's exactly what I'm talking about: *You're* making a   
difference. *You*. I guess my small, insignificant contributions don't factor   
much into the grand scheme of things."  
  
"You've changed, Scully. When did you become so selfish?"  
  
"Me, selfish? *Me?!* When was the last time you've looked in the mirror, Mulder?   
Or is that head or yours so big you can't see anything else past it?"  
  
He was not about to let her change the subject. "Yes, you selfish. How could   
anyone see what you've seen and not work to save us all? I thought you were   
better than that. My personal life is a small price to pay if I can find my   
answers."  
  
"Mulder, I want those answers, too. But that's not all I want out of life. And I   
certainly am not prepared to give mine up before I've even had the chance to   
live it."  
  
"Scully, those answers *are* life. The Consortium is involved with the visitors,   
and they are involved in experiments on human beings. Remember, Scully? You were   
one of those experiments."  
  
This time, she did wince. "Do you think I've forgotten that, Mulder? I almost   
died because of those experiments. I lost one child and the chance to ever have   
other children because of those goddammed experiments. They may not have   
succeeded in killing me with those fucking experiments, but they *have* stolen   
my future from me."  
  
Mulder stared at her as though she had dealt him a physical blow. Scully knew   
that he blamed himself for all that happened to her, was well aware that   
reminding him would only make the guilt stronger, the self-loathing more   
extreme. But right now she was hurting, and she wanted to lash out, to make him   
hurt as well. And she did not give a rat's ass if he never forgave himself.  
  
"If I just sit back and follow you like a lost puppy, then before I know it, my   
life's going to have passed me by," Scully explained. "And what will I have to   
show for it?"  
  
"How about life's ultimate truth and the satisfaction of possibly saving the   
whole damned planet?"  
  
"Dammit, Mulder, I don't want to be a martyr. There's more to life than the X-  
Files."  
  
"Scully . . . the X-Files *are* my life. I can't ever leave them. If I were a   
different man. . . ." Mulder trailed off, uncharacteristically silent.  
  
*And therein lies the problem,* she realized. "Maybe it's time I just cut my   
losses and walked away--while there's still a life for me to live."  
  
"Scully. . . ." Mulder softened his tone, realizing that their entire future   
could very easily ride on his next words and her response. "Maybe you just need   
some time off. Why don't you take a leave of absence for awhile? I don't want to   
lose you. The X-Files need your help."  
  
"Mulder, if we can't even work a case, if we can't even have a civil   
conversation without screaming at one another, what makes you think we'll ever   
be able to work together again?"  
  
Mulder could feel her slipping through his fingers. Desperate, he said, "Ahab's   
little Starbuck a quitter? If only he could see you now, Scully."  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. He saw her eyes flare with anger, even as they   
shone with wetness. He had mercilessly struck a nerve--raw even after all these   
years. "He never wanted me to join the FBI in first place. Maybe he was right   
all along. . . ."  
  
Mulder looked at her steadily, as if he had never seen her before. Who was this   
stranger standing before him? His pride prevented him from pleading with her any   
further. If she would not allow herself to see the error of her ways, there was   
nothing he would be able to say or do to change her mind. It seemed it might   
already be too late.  
  
"Maybe he was," he agreed softly.  
  
Scully turned away. "I think it's time for us to move on," she said, retrieving   
her windbreaker. "We need to find a way out of here."  
  
Realizing there was nothing left to say, Mulder silently picked up the   
flashlight.  
  
And the couple moved through the darkness . . . together but alone.  
  
  
End Chapter 6  
  
  
***** 


	7. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 07/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
  
"Is it me, or does this passageway look familiar?" Scully wondered aloud. It was   
the first time she had addressed Mulder directly since they left the underground   
lake nearly four hours earlier.  
  
Mulder swung the flashlight up in a sweeping arc to examine the walls more   
closely. "I don't know, Scully," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You've seen   
one cave, you've seen 'em all." As he moved the track of the beam back to the   
main path, it seemed to decrease in intensity.  
  
"I mean it, Mulder. I'm nearly positive we've been down this tunnel before," she   
insisted.  
  
"How the hell can you tell?"  
  
"I recognize this unusual rock formation. Shine the light over this way," she   
said, pointing to the far wall.  
  
"Don't tell me you're seeing patterns in the piles of bat guano. Though that   
mound over there does look like a mini version of Jabba the Hutt." As he moved   
the flashlight, the beam faded almost completely, but then came back on. Mulder   
whacked the lamp with the side of his hand.  
  
"We just took a right about twenty minutes back at an unusually large stalagmite   
with a kidney-shaped indentation in its side," Scully explained. "I remember   
seeing the same mark in a similar rock nearly two hours ago. The only logical   
explanation is that it's the same rock."  
  
"'Only logical explanation' my ass! What are you, Mr. Spock now?"  
  
"Mulder, I'm telling you it's the same damned rock."  
  
"How the hell can it be the same rock? We've been down here for hours. Your eyes   
are probably playing tricks on you."  
  
"My eyes are just fine. It's yours that are the problem, because you've   
obviously been leading us in circles ever since we left the lake."  
  
"I still say you're wrong, Scully. We haven't been down this way before."  
  
"Oh? Then why does that look like our boot prints up ahead?" she asked, crossing   
her arms and gesturing with her head.  
  
"Where?" he asked, taking a step forward and pointing the flashlight toward the   
ground where she had indicated. As he did so, the beam winked out altogether,   
leaving them in total darkness. "Oooh, shit!"  
  
If Scully had not been so aggravated, she might actually have been impressed by   
how genuinely distressed her partner sounded. Right now, though, she had   
absolutely no patience for his practical jokes and his irritating sense of   
humor. "Cut the crap, Mulder. God, you'll do anything to shirk responsibility   
for our being lost, won't you? Turn the flashlight back on."  
  
"I didn't shut it off, Scully. It went off on its own." He shook the flashlight,   
then fiddled with the switch, turning it off and on several times. Nothing made   
the beam come back on.  
  
"Goddammit, Mulder, I'm not in the mood for your stupid games!"  
  
"I'm not kidding around, Scully. I think the battery just died."  
  
"How can the battery have run out? They're supposed to last a hell of a lot   
longer than half a day. Give it to me."  
  
"Knock yourself out, Scully," Mulder replied, handing it to her.  
  
Muttering to herself, she tried the switch herself. "I don't suppose you have   
any spare batteries in your bag?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
Scully proceeded to unscrew the compartment that held the batteries. She popped   
them out and then back in again, and then refastened the plastic plate, all to   
no avail. The flashlight still would not work.  
  
"See, Scully? It's not my faul--whoa!" He threw himself backwards, barely   
avoiding having his face bashed in.  
  
In a fit of rage, she swung the flashlight, smashing it against the cave wall.   
"Fucking piece of crap!" Just as quickly as her temper flared, her outbreak of   
anger was over.  
  
"Oh, that was real mature, Scully. Destroy our only remaining flashlight."  
  
"It's useless, Mulder. It's not like we're going to come across any new   
batteries down here. They don't grow wild, and there aren't any Seven-Elevens   
around."  
  
"Just as long as you watch where you swing that thing," Mulder warned her.  
  
"I can't see my own hands in front of my face, Mulder, let alone you."  
  
"Well, I think I might have a means of putting some light on the situation," he   
said as he removed his satchel from his back and opened the zipper to the main   
compartment.  
  
Scully waited as he searched, but when he did not quickly produce whatever it   
was he was looking for, she soon grew impatient. "Well?" she asked, folding her   
arms across her chest.  
  
"Goddammit! . . . I know I packed some waterproof matches in here somewhere,"   
Mulder muttered, rummaging blindly through his backpack.  
  
"You couldn't find your way out of a paper bag," Scully grumbled.  
  
"I'm wounded, Scully. Need I remind you which FBI agent fell into a pile of bat   
guano and ruined her professional demeanor?"  
  
"I wouldn't have fallen into the damned guano if you hadn't distracted me."  
  
The cave rumbled--a low, distant throbbing under their feet.  
  
"I thought you were above that, Scully. Really, using distractions as an   
excuse." He tried to put a light teasing tone into his words but Scully only   
seemed to notice that he was criticizing her again.  
  
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about, Mulder. Is everything a goddamned   
game for you? Perhaps if you took our situation seriously, we'd be out of here   
by now. I never should have let you direct our course. Now, will you give me the   
goddamned matches and the compass so I can get us the hell out of here?"  
  
"Compass? Uhm . . . what compass?"  
  
"What do you mean, what compass? The one you've been using to direct us toward   
the entrance."  
  
"Scully, you took the compass from me, hours ago. You never gave it back."  
  
It was only then that Scully remembered pocketing the compass after checking   
their course earlier that afternoon. But that had been shortly after the cave-  
in. She was sure she no longer had it in her possession. She quickly searched   
her pockets, but the instrument was nowhere to be found. It must have fallen out   
when she fell into the guano. But if she did not have it, and Mulder did not   
have it, that meant they had been walking blindly in the dark.  
  
Scully felt her heart sink. Surely, it was impossible for her partner to have   
acted so foolishly, so recklessly. Not even Mulder could behave that stupidly.  
  
*Who am I kidding? This is Fox Mulder I'm talking about. Irresponsible is his   
middle name.*  
  
They had been wandering around in circles for the past four hours because her   
partner had no idea what direction they had been headed. Just like a man!  
  
It should be impossible, but Mulder thought he could detect a blacker than black   
cloud in Scully's wake.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Scully tried to hold in her anger. "Mulder, do you mean to   
tell me that you've been attempting to guide us through these tunnels without   
the aid of a compass?"  
  
"Scully, I've been using my finely honed male instincts."  
  
"But, Mulder, there's no one around for you not to ask for directions. And you   
call yourself an Indian Guide!"  
  
Mulder thought aloud, "If only I'd taken those steroids in college, my male   
instincts would be animal keen now . . . I could follow the scent of fresh air.   
Hmm, I wonder what could be blocking the trail?" He sniffed the air, moving ever   
closer to his partner. "Oh, yes, there's that over-powering stench of bat   
turds."  
  
"Fuck off, Mulder! You got us into this mess, but you're obviously not planning   
to do anything to rectify the situation."  
  
"Well, I could always call on the help of a certain Hawaiian priestess. Excuse   
me a moment, Scully, while I have a little chat with my native friend here. . .   
." She could barely make out his silhouette as he moved to one side of the   
narrow path.  
  
"Mulder, if you want to attempt to summon an angry cave Kahuna, knock yourself   
out. Just give me the matches, and I'll be on my way."  
  
Mulder ignored her, however, as he lowered himself into a kneeling position. "O   
great Kahuna, O mighty Meleahana, I summon you now to ask for your help," Mulder   
called loudly, throwing up his arms in supplication.  
  
"That's it! I've had enough of your ridiculous performance. Mulder, give me the   
goddammed matches!" she growled, reaching for the backpack.  
  
She nearly pulled him off-balance and face-first into the dust as she lunged for   
the satchel. Unwilling to give in, Mulder held tight to his knapsack as he rose   
unsteadily to his feet. A minor tug of war ensued and in the midst of the   
fracas, neither agent noticed the ground was soft and crumbling under their   
feet.  
  
"Mulder, for once in your life act your age. Give me the fucking matches--NOW!"  
  
In a fit of anger, Scully yanked the satchel--and yanked hard. Too hard. The   
force of her movement sent both partners stumbling. Before they could even   
register what was happening, the ground gave way beneath them, and they started   
to fall downwards through a hidden sinkhole. But instead of hitting solid ground   
seconds later, to their surprise they kept falling--plunging for what felt like   
an eternity toward the cold, dark unknown that lay below.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Accompanied by a rain of falling rock, wet mud, and the distinct aroma of fresh   
bat guano, the duo landed with a bone-jarring thump. For several long moments,   
all was silent in the cave as both agents remained still.  
  
Eventually, Scully moved slightly, moaning, and then fell silent again as more   
mud fell on top of her and Mulder, whose bodies lay entangled together in a   
loverlike clasp.  
  
When the sky seemed to finally stop falling, she cautiously shifted herself   
again--this time eliciting a weary groan from her partner.  
  
"You better not be dead, Mulder. Because the moment we get out of here, I'm   
going to kill you myself."  
  
"Well, I'd hate to deprive you of the pleasure, Scully."  
  
"I still can't believe you dragged me into this damned cave. It's bad enough we   
got trapped inside and you led us around in circles for hours. And that's to say   
nothing of your trying to drown me, and now this!"  
  
"Hey, you're the one who pulled me into a pile of bat shit. . . ."  
  
"I did *not* pull you."  
  
"Did too!"  
  
"Did not!"  
  
"Too!"  
  
"Not!"  
  
A slight movement to the right caught Mulder's attention. "Uh, Scully. . . ."  
  
"The least you could do is get the hell off of me, Mulder."  
  
"Uhm, Scully. . . ."  
  
"I mean it Mulder. You're no spring chicken here. Your elbow is in my ribs."  
  
"Did you hear something?"  
  
  
  
And with the temperamental perversity of objects that only work when they want   
to, the flashlight came back on . . . its weak light illuminating a rugged wall   
and the shadows of four looming figures.  
  
Scully followed Mulder's gaze to the four pairs of feet encased in heavy, steel   
reinforced boots. She then looked up to see four men, who, dressed uniformly in   
black, seemed to blend into the infinite darkness of the caves. Her gaze   
lingered, then, on the businesslike muzzles of the four HK MP5 sub-machine guns   
that were pointed in their faces.  
  
  
End Chapter 7  
  
  
***** 


	8. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 08/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 8  
  
  
You wake up to realize your only friend  
Has never been yourself or anyone who cared in the end  
That's when suddenly everything fades or falls away  
'Cause the chains which once held us are only the chains which we've made  
  
  
In the dim light cast by the failing flashlight, Scully could just make out the   
upside-down faces of four very large, very pissed-off looking men.  
  
In perfect synchrony, small, concentrated beams of light appeared from their   
helmets, cutting a collective swathe of illumination through the velvet   
blackness.  
  
Scully found herself momentarily blinded by the sudden onslaught, and lay there   
blinking to clear her vision,  
  
"Hey, Scully, it looks the welcoming committee is here," Mulder announced   
cheerfully from where he lay, partly on top of her, on the cave floor. "Aloha,   
gentlemen."  
  
"Shut up. On your feet, with your hands up," one of the men barked. "Now! Move   
it!"  
  
Scully winced as she tried disentangle herself from her partner. She did not   
want to think about all the bruises she was going to have to show for their trek   
in this godforsaken cave.  
  
They apparently were not moving fast enough. One of the men gave Mulder an   
impatient jab to the ribs with his gun muzzle, while another grasped Scully's   
arm and pulled her unceremoniously to her feet.  
  
"Hands on your heads where I can see 'em."  
  
"All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a wad." Mulder got another jab   
in the ribs as he moved his hands slowly, insolently toward his head.  
  
"Move it! We don't got all day!"  
  
"And you think breaking his ribs is going to make him move more quickly?" Scully   
asked sarcastically, even as she reluctantly complied with the orders.  
  
"Shut up. I'll ask the questions here. Let's start with what you're doing in   
this part of the cave. Aren't you two wandering a little far from the entrance?"  
  
"We got lost," Scully told them. "Genius over there lost our compass and was   
leading us around in circles."  
  
"Hey, *you* had the compass last," Mulder replied angrily. "And I didn't see you   
objecting to the direction I was going."  
  
"Because I stupidly assumed you knew where the hell you were going!" she spat   
back. Hopefully, their captors would buy their bickering couple routine, so that   
they could bide their time and figure out what was going on--and how the hell   
they were going to get out of this predicament.  
  
"Search 'em," one of the men told another two. The same man who had questioned   
them. From the authority behind the command issued, he was obviously the leader.  
  
Scully stiffened as she was frisked. She was prepared to fight back if the hands   
lingered anywhere improper. She winced as a hand stopped at the small of her   
back--at her holster.  
  
"Shit! Hey, RB, take a look at this."  
  
"What is it, Socks?"  
  
"She's packing," Socks said, pulling out her Sig Sauer.  
  
"They both are," said another of the men as he produced Mulder's weapon from his   
hip.  
  
*Dammit!* Scully cursed silently. There was a chance this was about to get very   
ugly. Stealing a glance in her partner's direction, she wondered if he was still   
in the habit of wearing his ankle holster.  
  
"Something tells me these aren't two honeymooners on a tour of the caves," the   
one called RB said. "What do their id's say?"  
  
One of the men finished patting Mulder down, but not before Mulder had time to   
bat his eyes and say, "Was it good for you, too?"  
  
He quickly paid for his indiscretion: A moment later he was on his knees,   
wincing from the kidney punch he had received from the butt of the sub-machine   
gun. As he tried to catch his breath, his assailant showed RB their id's.  
  
"Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI."  
  
"Shit! Just what we need . . . goddammed Feds," RB growled contemptuously. He   
looked Mulder over. He knew this one was going to be a pain in the ass. Then he   
looked at the other id that was handed to him. "Dana Scully, also with the   
Bureau." The woman, on the other hand . . . quite a looker, despite the dirt and   
grime and mysterious white paste that covered her clothing.  
  
"Well, now that you know who we are, would you mind returning the favor?" Scully   
asked as she turned to face the quartet. She took the opportunity to   
surreptitiously look them over. She now recognized their black clothing as   
military-issue Battle Dress Uniforms, similar to the BDUs worn by members of the   
SWAT team. They were toting quite a bit of gear in matching black rucksacks.   
Each had a Nighthawk light clipped to their headgear and belts, leaving their   
hands free for easy access to the sub-machine guns they were sporting. She   
noticed that the one closest to her also had a holster for a handgun; she had no   
doubt that the other three men carried similar weapons. "Who the hell are you?"   
she said bluntly, her eyes boring holes into RB, who she had deduced to be their   
leader.  
  
*Oh well,* RB sighed inwardly. *Looks like they're both gonna be trouble.*  
  
Taking a leisurely step closer, RB looked the two scruffy agents over and   
laughed for the first time on this mission. "If I told you, I'd have to kill   
you." And with that, he signaled his men to herd their captives ahead.  
  
The bright, narrow beams cast by the LED lights on the men's helmets and belts   
pierced the inky darkness of the cave, guiding their way. Stumbling noisily as   
they were unceremoniously pushed and propelled down an endless labyrinth of   
twists and turns, Mulder and Scully could not help but notice how the men barely   
made a sound when they walked. Sure-footed, nimble, and almost graceful in their   
economic movements, the men advanced though the passageway like ghosts.  
  
"And just where are we headed?" Scully asked as she was prodded ahead by one of   
the men's guns.  
  
"You'll find out when we get there," RB replied curtly. "Now shut up and keep   
moving."  
  
One of the men--the one RB had referred to as 'Socks'--pulled out an electronic   
device. It appeared to be a tracking system of some sort, from the way he was   
looking back and forth between the illuminated display and their current path.  
  
Mulder eyed the device surreptitiously. "That the latest government-issue toy?   
You grunts get to play with all the fun stuff."  
  
"Any more remarks out of you and the Commander is going to knock you out, Fed or   
not," a third man growled.  
  
Commander, huh? Scully's mind began to whirl. That meant they were not army,   
marines, nor air force--not that the latter was very likely anyway. RB's rank   
indicated that they were Navy. . . .  
  
"What, you're not man enough to do it yourself, tough guy?" Mulder taunted.  
  
He was rewarded with a smack across the back of the head.  
  
From the front of the procession, Scully heard RB say, "Y'know, G-Man, I'm   
beginning to think keeping you around is more trouble than it's worth. . . ."   
With that, he quickened his pace and moved on ahead of the group.  
  
"Funny, but I've been thinking the same thing lately," Scully murmured.  
  
Socks caught Scully's mutter and guffawed. "Lady, you must have your hands full   
with this overgrown schoolboy. Fibbies." He shook his head in mock sorrow.  
  
She decided to make use of the opening he created. "That's pretty high-tech gear   
you're sporting there--Socks, did I hear him call you? Not standard military   
issue. You guys must be some of the elite, to get use of that kind of   
equipment."  
  
Socks said nothing, but she could tell from his stance and the slight curve of   
his mouth that his interest was piqued. She was definitely onto something. Time   
to see how far she could take this.  
  
"What I can't figure out is why we'd come across a bunch of soldiers down here,"   
Scully said matter-of-factly. Her tone was one of mild interest--that of one   
discussing the weather, or a puzzling crossword clue. "Obviously looking for   
something pretty important. So, what exactly might that be? A secret weapon?   
Some sort of natural ore?"  
  
Socks snorted. "Believe me, babe, you wouldn't believe me even if I could tell   
ya."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Scully replied cryptically. "C'mon. Agent   
Mulder and I are here on a Federal investigation. For all we know, we might be   
looking for the same thing."  
  
Socks opened his mouth to reply, but stopped himself, thinking better of it.   
Then his attention wasshifted to movement up in front of the group.  
  
RB, who had been scouting ahead, came up to them, halting the procession. He   
laid a heavy hand on Socks' shoulder. There was familiarity in that gesture, a   
degree of fondness. Not just of a commander and his long-standing subordinate,   
but of two men who trusted one another, of friends exchanging an unspoken   
communication.  
  
"Now, Socks . . . no fraternizing with the prisoners," RB gently chided. There   
was no bite to his words. They sounded more like a friendly reminder of standard   
protocol.  
  
"Is that what we are?" Scully asked, annoyed. "Your prisoners?"  
  
In the light cast by the LEDs on their helmets, Scully was finally able to get a   
good look at the two soldiers. As they both turned toward her, she took the   
opportunity to study their faces.  
  
Socks was short and stocky, not quite six feet, but built like a linebacker. He   
had olive skin and dark brown eyes. Mediterranean origin, if she had to fathom a   
guess, or possibly Central or South American. The Commander was half a head   
taller--easily six-three or six-four she estimated. Lighter complexion, square   
jaw covered with at least a couple days' worth of stubble. Right now, his blue   
eyes were pinning her with an icy gaze.  
  
"For the moment," he replied.  
  
"Now, why is that, considering we're on the same side? We all work for the   
government. Why not work together now?"  
  
From several feet behind her, she heard Mulder chime in. "Obviously, because   
these tough-guy mercs would never sink to the level of associating themselves   
with a couple of pencil-pushing Fibbies. Even if our area of expertise might   
actually be of some use to them."  
  
RB snorted. "You gonna explain to me how to fill out some paperwork? How to file   
a report?"  
  
"Nah, I just figured I'd start with basic grammar and spelling."  
  
RB's eyes narrowed in contempt. "Don't push me too far, G-Man. It wouldn't be   
much effort and would take even less deliberation to break your scrawny little   
neck and give us all some peace and quiet." RB paused, turning his attention to   
Scully. "Who our employer is, is none of your concern. So don't go worrying your   
pretty little red head about such matters."  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Commander. This little redhead isn't concerned with who cuts   
your paychecks," she intoned evenly, folding her arms across her chest. "What   
I'm trying to figure out is what would a Navy SEALs special ops team be looking   
for in an underground Hawaiian cave?"  
  
From behind her, she heard Mulder snigger. Perhaps they could not surpass these   
guys in brute force or strength, but she and Mulder could certainly outfox them   
when it came to a battle of wits.  
  
Crossing his own massive arms, the commander regarded her for several long   
moments. He evidently had misjudged her. That was not a common fault of his; he   
was usually damned good at reading people, assessing their talents and their   
limitations. Obviously she had figured out they were military from the way they   
moved and worked, even if their gear itself or one of his men's little slip had   
not given them away. Better to end the conversation now, he decided, and not   
give her any more clues as to the true nature of their mission. Besides, they   
were already falling way behind schedule. And time was definitely of the essence   
today.  
  
"I don't have time to debate this with you--Agent Scully." Somehow, he made her   
name sound like an insult. "I have my orders."  
  
Wheeling, he turned his attention back to his men. "Socks, come with me to check   
out this trail. You too, Toller. I'll need both of your help. Robbins." RB   
snapped his fingers and pointed at the agents.  
  
With a curt nod, Robbins strode in front of his prisoners, toting his gun with   
an easy grace. It seemed he had been rewarded with guard duty.  
  
RB moved swiftly into the darkness, Socks and Toller moving with him.  
  
As the trio of SEALs disappeared from sight, Scully took the opportunity to   
collapse against the cave wall, giving herself a moment to catch her breath and   
regroup her thoughts.  
  
Eying Robbins warily, Mulder walked over to Scully and likewise rested his back   
against the side of the passageway. "Scully, what say you use your femi nine   
wiles to get some info out of ole stoneface over there?" Mulder suggested in a   
hushed tone.  
  
She looked at her partner in irritation. "I don't know, Mulder. I think he's   
more your type."  
  
Mulder was about to give her a glare, but then, catching Robbins' eye, he said   
loudly, "No, I like them a little more lean and young, if you know what I mean,   
Scully."  
  
Mulder stretched luxuriously, as if he had not been hiking for hours, and as   
though there was not a gun pointed in his direction.  
  
Only Scully caught his smirk as he sauntered closer to Robbins in that easygoing   
way of his. Despite the recent arguments they had had on this trip, that short   
exchange of glances was all the communication the partners needed to know what   
the other was thinking.  
  
Mulder walked around Robbins slowly, moving his eyes over him like a prospective   
buyer at a meat market. "Nice build, wouldn't you agree, Scully? But just a   
little too Neanderthal for my taste."  
  
Robbins just flicked his eyes in Mulder's direction once and moved to a position   
where he could cover both agents with ease.  
  
Scully made a production of looking Robbins over. "Yeah, way too many muscles,   
Mulder. I know how you prefer a swimmer's build." She strolled closer to the   
soldier, hips swaying provocatively. "Me, I prefer a little more meat on my men.   
And you, Robbins, definitely have enough muscle to go around."  
  
Eying her suspiciously, Robbins shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
"Hmmm," Scully wondered aloud, devouring Robbins with her eyes. "I'll bet you   
can press two, maybe three hundred pounds."  
  
Mulder moved closer to the SEAL. "Hey, I know this great little restaurant on   
the beach. Dining by moonlight. . . ."  
  
Scully surreptitiously inched closer to her left while Mulder kept slowly   
drifting to the right. Just a little further, and they would have Robbins   
between them.  
  
"Is it hot in here?" Scully asked, unzipping her windbreaker, revealing the   
tight tee-shirt she wore beneath. Arching her neck to reveal the hollow of her   
throat, she slowly slid her hand down her neck, between her breasts.  
  
Robbins let his eyes linger at her chest. She was definitely a babe--even if she   
was looking hot and tired and covered in dirt and some sort of foul-smelling   
white muck. But she was supposed to be his prisoner, he quickly reminded himself   
as he straightened to his full height. Best to stop looking at her that way, and   
remember his duties.  
  
"I could sure go for a nice cool swim," Scully was saying.  
  
"Y'know, there's this great underground lake about a mile or so back," Mulder   
remarked, cocking his thumb over his shoulder.  
  
". . . yeah, and skinny dipping in the dark is such a delicious feeling," Scully   
added with more heat than even she intended.  
  
Mulder's head pivoted towards her in a split second of disbelief. Desire chased   
over his face for several long moments as he drank in her provocative pose. He   
did a slow blink before he regained control, and remembered the task at hand. He   
started practically cooing to Robbins: "We could all go skinny dipping to cool   
off. A little threesome to pass the time away?"  
  
What the hell were these two up to? Robbins wondered. Being a soldier--and an   
above-average looking one at that--he was used to women flirting with him. Once   
or twice, he had even had a man hit on him. But never before had he had both   
propositioning him at the same time. It was absurd, he realized. These two were   
supposed to be Feds? Somehow he had always pictured Fibbies as being stiff-  
necked straight-laced suits. Nothing like these two loonies.  
  
By now, Robbins was sweating heavily. Hostages were supposed to be frightened   
rabbits, not hungry wolves. He wished RB and the others would hurry the hell up   
and come back.  
  
Robbins was now the point of a forty-five degree angle between Mulder and   
Scully. As they moved, he kept backing away, moving his gun back and forth from   
Mulder to Scully, who kept moving away from each other and slowly advancing on   
him.  
  
"Actually, I was hoping for something a little more private," Scully said,   
closing the last of the distance between her and Robbins.  
  
"Where are you going? Get back over there!" he ordered Scully. He turned a mere   
fraction of an inch to fully face her. But it was far enough that Mulder just   
slipped out of his peripheral vision.  
  
Scully stopped in her tracks and pouted her lips. "But the lake's back that   
ways."  
  
At that moment, Mulder lunged for Robbins' gun. The two men began to struggle   
for control of the weapon, which was sandwiched between them at chest level.  
  
Scully knew that Mulder would be no match for a Navy SEAL. She had to move   
quickly. Darting closer, she reached for the back of Robbins' belt, and   
retrieved her own weapon.  
  
Bullets whined as Robbins' gun went off. Scully jumped back out of the way as   
the men tumbled to the ground.  
  
Scully pointed her Sig at the two wrestling figures, but could not get a clear   
shot. Finally, when the two figures stopped rolling, Robbins had Mulder pinned   
in a headlock.  
  
"Freeze!" Scully shouted, leveling her gun at the soldier. "Let him go. Nice and   
easy."  
  
Mulder croaked as the soldier tightened his grip and bared his teeth. "No, *you*   
drop the gun, Agent Scully. Or else I'll gut your partner like a stuck pig."  
  
He revealed the knife he had retrieved from his boot.  
  
"Well, then you'll both be dead," Scully said evenly, aiming her gun between   
Robbins' eyes.  
  
"Scully!" Mulder squeaked. Fine time she picked to play chicken.  
  
Robbins' eyes narrowed. Scully released the safety from her Sig.  
  
It was this tableaux that greeted RB and his two team members. "What the hell is   
going on here?" he demanded as the trio approached, weapons drawn.  
  
Scully, who had not heard them coming, nearly jumped at the sound of the voice.   
She could not believe how silent their approach had been.  
  
"I knew you two Feds would be nothing but trouble." RB reached over to Scully   
and pinched her wrist, plucking the gun from her nerveless hands. "Robbins, I   
thought I told you to watch these two."  
  
"I had everything under control, RB."  
  
"Yeah," Socks sneered. "That's why G-woman here was using your forehead as a   
bullseye."  
  
Robbins could only lower his eyes in shame. He released his hold on Mulder--but   
not before giving him a quick, firm punch to the gut.  
  
Mulder lay writhing on the ground, moaning, trying to catch his breath.  
  
"If you weren't a lady, I'd give you a piece of my mind, too," RB told Scully,   
leveling his fist at her nose.  
  
"I guess I should be thankful that chivalry isn't dead," Scully retorted,   
glaring at him before moving to her partner's side. "You okay, Mulder?" she   
whispered.  
  
"Aside from my new job as whipping boy, I'm just dandy," he muttered.  
  
"Let me be the judge of that," she replied, checking him over for injuries.  
  
As he quietly chastised Robbins, RB watched her with a detached interest, noting   
her efficient movements. First aid training surely. He filed the information   
away. Ending his gentle reprimand with an encouraging slap to the back, he began   
to gather his small band. "Let's go. Time to move out."  
  
"So, what are you guys gonna do now? March us off to some corner and shoot us in   
the back?" Scully asked, slowly rising to her feet.  
  
"Believe me, ma'am, nothing would give me greater pleasure right now."  
  
"Believe me, the feeling's mutual," Mulder muttered from his prone position.  
  
"Unfortunately, right now you're both more useful to me alive."  
  
Socks hauled Mulder to a standing position. "Up on your feet. We don't have time   
to lounge around," he said, not too unkindly.  
  
"Why the rush?" Scully asked as she was likewise shepherded forward.  
  
She was answered by the incessant beeping of the tracker in Sock's hands.   
"Skipper? I don't know how long that these tunnels are going to hold out under   
these quakes. If we don't shake a leg, we might not be able to get through."  
  
As if to punctuate his statement, the ground rumbled under their feet and they   
were all pelted by a shower of pebbles.  
  
"Where the hell are you taking us? Somebody's going to fill me in, or I will not   
move another inch," Scully declared, crossing her arms.  
  
"Lady, don't mess with me right now," the commander warned. "I am not in the   
mood for insubordination. If I have to pick you up and carry you over my   
shoulder, you are going to move."  
  
"Oo, do I get the royal treatment, too?" Mulder queried.  
  
Scully glared mutinously at RB while Mulder smirked. Her scowl quickly turned to   
a gasp of surprise as the commander made good his threat: he picked her up like   
a sack of potatoes and hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He   
began to jog down the tunnel. Toller and Socks quickly followed suit. At the   
urging of Robbins' weapon, Mulder joined in the procession.  
  
"Put me down!" Scully shouted, pummeling RB's back with her fists. "Let me go!"  
  
"She's not the kind'a woman that appreciates being swept off her feet," Mulder   
remarked to Socks as he followed the group through the passageway.  
  
"Shut up, Mulder!" Scully screamed furiously.  
  
"She always this pleasant?" Socks asked him.  
  
"Part of her charm," Mulder replied. "She grows on you after a while."  
  
"Like a fungus?"  
  
"More like jock itch."  
  
Socks chuckled silently. With the exchange, Mulder realized he had managed to   
forge a reluctant truce.  
  
The rumbling began to grow louder, and Scully's continued protests were ignored   
as they all picked up the pace and began to run through the tunnel, dodging the   
occasional splattering of small stones.  
  
"Hold up!" RB bellowed, bringing the procession to a quick halt. The path ended   
abruptly several feet in front of him.  
  
Pushing his way through for a better look, Mulder's eyes widened as he realized   
they were standing before a gaping chasm. "Now what?" he asked.  
  
"We go across," RB said, depositing Scully on the ground and signaling to his   
men.  
  
Approaching the edge carefully, Mulder looked down at the seemingly endless pit.   
His stomach knotted. He had a very bad feeling about this. . . .  
  
Toller knelt and pulled out a small kit from his rucksack. In under a minute   
flat, he had assembled what looked like a small, foot-long rocket launcher. He   
loaded it with a deadly-looking carbon steel harpoon that had a cable tied   
through its center like a thread through the eye of a needle.  
  
Approaching the edge of the canyon, Toller squatted, bracing himself as he set   
one foot forward and one foot back. He wordlessly brought the launcher to his   
shoulder. He gazed through the attached scope, adjusted his aim as he sighted   
his target across the ravine, and squeezed the trigger. With an audible rush of   
air, the harpoon and attached cable sped forward like a striking snake,   
embedding itself into the rock firmly.  
  
The two agents watched in fascination as Robbins pulled out a metal object no   
larger than his hand. Scully peered closer and saw two metal wheels, each with a   
grooved rim, attached with metal joints that protruded from the centers of the   
wheels. Robbins snapped a joint open and placed the rim of one of the wheels   
onto the cable that Socks handed him before snapping the other wheel back into   
place. The cable now fit snugly between the two wheels--pulleys, Scully now   
realized--one wheel above, and one below. Socks and Robbins worked silently, and   
in swift progression, a long rod was assembled and attached to the pulley to   
serve as handlebars. A makeshift but sturdy trolley was now in place.  
  
Meanwhile, RB had been threading the free end of the cable into a similar   
harpoon, and securing it with several knots. He quickly loaded it into the   
launcher, and reminded Toller to adjust the setting for close-range fire. With a   
nod, Toller reset the launcher and turned to survey the wall behind them.  
  
"This looks like a good spot," RB said. "Point and shoot."  
  
Once more bracing himself, Toller raised the launcher to his shoulder, aimed,   
and fired. The steel arrow whizzed forward, embedding itself into the rock. The   
cable was now strung tautly across the abyss at about shoulder height.  
  
RB was now scanning the chasm and testing the cable and trolley with his weight.   
It seemed to withhold the strain to his satisfaction.  
  
"Socks, you first. Toller, you help Agent Smartass. I'll get Scully. Robbins,   
you take up the rear. Let's go. Move out!"  
  
Scully watched in awe as Socks quickly shouldered his gear.  
  
They really did not expect her and Mulder to follow suit--did they?  
  
Mulder peered down the edge of the cliff. All he could see was darkness below.   
He kicked a rock down the ravine and waited to hear it hit the bottom. When the   
sound did not come, he grimaced. "Ah shit!"  
  
Toller tossed a harness to Mulder. "You're next, G-Man," he said, helping Mulder   
put it on correctly.  
  
"Whatever happened to ladies first?" Mulder asked, looking over his shoulder at   
Scully. She locked gazes with him, her own face seeming a shade paler than   
usual. At least she was nervous too. Cold comfort, really.  
  
He felt a hand clasp him on the shoulder, startling him. "Last step's a doosey,   
eh?" Socks asked with a mischievous grin right before grabbing the trolley. "See   
ya on the other side, bud."  
  
With a small wave, he backed up, got a running start, and cast off the edge. He   
slid the thirty or so yards across the gaping chasm to the embankment on the   
other side. When his feet touched solid ground, he signaled to the others before   
sending the trolley back across. Robbins intercepted it.  
  
Toller was checking the connections on Mulder's harness with a casualness that   
did not do much for Mulder's nerves. "All set," he said, pushing Mulder toward   
the edge and the waiting trolley.  
  
Mulder gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to look down. "You have got to be   
kidding me," he remarked nervously as Toller attached his harness to the pulley   
with two metal biners.  
  
"Just don't look down. Keep your eyes straight ahead. Focus on Socks on the   
other side, and it'll be over before you know it."  
  
Toller signaled for Mulder to back up. Mulder took a deep breath as he   
considered the gaping hole ahead of him. "Don't suppose I get a kiss for good   
luck?"  
  
He had barely placed his hands on the handlebars (more like a death grip, Scully   
would tease him later) when he was abruptly pushed forward by Toller. Mulder   
took a running leap and cast off of the edge of the ravine. He gave a shout that   
would put Goofy to shame. The ride was unlike any he had been on in his entire   
life. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and glorious, all at once. Definitely the   
longest fifteen seconds of his life.  
  
When Mulder reached the other side, Socks grabbed hold of the harness, pulled   
him to level ground, and unhooked him.  
  
As Mulder struggled to catch his breath, Socks sent the trolley back to Toller.  
  
RB glanced at his watch. "We've got to hustle. The agents are slowing us down.   
C'mon, Scully, let's get you into a harness. Double time, Toller."  
  
"Aye-aye Skipper." Backing up twice as much as Socks or Mulder had, Toller took   
a running start and jumped off the edge. He flew across the chasm in under ten   
seconds.  
  
It took longer for the trolley to return to them. Robbins caught it quickly.   
"Let's go, Agent Scully. You're up," he said.  
  
Suddenly, the ground lurched with more force than ever, and they had to vie for   
footing. Scully was standing precariously close to the edge, and felt herself   
stumbling a bit too close for comfort. RB grabbed her to steady her, pulling her   
back. "You okay?" he asked.  
  
Still grasping his arm for support, she nodded at him gratefully. "How do I put   
this thing on?" she asked, fumbling with the straps of the harness.  
  
"Here, let me," he said, adjusting it around her waist and legs.  
  
"Shit! Boss, look!" Robbins exclaimed, pointing to the cable.  
  
RB and Scully turned to look. The cable was no longer level, and it now sloped   
slightly downward toward their side of the ravine. What was worse, the latest   
tremor must have loosened one of the connections; the cable now sagged almost a   
yard in the center. That meant it would require even more acceleration to clear   
the chasm and propel the rider across.  
  
"Fuck!" He looked down at Scully and shook his head. "How much do you weigh?"  
  
Her eyebrow arched at the untoward question. "You gonna ask me my age while   
you're at it?"  
  
"Little thing like her . . . probably less than my gun," Robbins remarked.  
  
"You can't be much more than a hundred," RB said, shaking his head. "That's not   
enough weight to get you to the other side. You'd hang in the middle."  
  
"So how do you propose I get to the other side?" Scully queried.  
  
"We'll have to take it together. Here, put your arms around my neck. Robbins,   
watch the cable."  
  
Scully hesitated. She did not know if she could trust this man. She would just   
as soon take her chances with the cable.  
  
"Get the lead out, Li'l Red. This cable's not gonna last much longer." He bent   
down in front of her.  
  
Eyes narrowing contemptuously as he grabbed her by the waist, Scully snaked her   
legs around RB's hips and wrapped her arms around his neck. She could feel the   
hard muscles of his chest and shoulders even through the fabric of his BDUs.  
  
Cupping her ass, he slid his hands part-way down her thighs and tucked her legs   
more securely around his waist. As he nestled Scully more tightly against him, a   
wave of heat emanated from deep within her core, and quickly spread as she   
realized that a submachine gun was not the only formidable equipment he was   
packing. The pleasurable sensation the sudden contact elicited was enough to   
make her reconsider Mulder's suggestion for taking up a career as a lap dancer.  
  
*Why, Commander, is that a concealed weapon, or are you just happy to see me?*   
She nearly giggled at the illicit thought. She allowed herself an appreciative   
inward sigh before giving herself a little shake and bringing herself back to   
business. At least, she hoped the sigh had been inward. . . .  
  
"Hold on tight!" RB gave her a little grin before taking a running leap and   
casting them both off into the air.  
  
The abrupt sensation of falling made Scully instinctively grab the commander   
more tightly. She buried her face in his neck, holding on for dear life. Her   
senses registered the smell of sweat and gunpowder and a scent her mind could   
only describe as distinctly male.  
  
With an abrupt jerk, they reached the other side. Scully disentangled herself   
from the commander, and he took her by the waist to deposit her onto the ground.  
  
As she began to detach the harness, Scully whispered in a deadly tone, "Touch my   
ass again and you're a dead man."  
  
"Well worth the risk," he whispered back with a wink as he turned his attention   
to Robbins, who was just retrieving the trolley Socks had sent to him.  
  
Watching the two like a hawk as they whispered to each other, Mulder did a slow   
burn.  
  
Was that a smile that crept across Scully's face? She was definitely flushed.   
Was that from the thrill of the ride--or something more? He could not be sure.  
  
As he got whiff of the palpable sexual undercurrent exchanged between his   
partner and the SEAL commander, for the first time in a long while, jealousy   
flared.  
  
Socks offered a sympathetic glance which Mulder missed entirely.  
  
Mulder walked over to his partner just as the commander turned his attention   
elsewhere. "Enjoy the ride, Scully?" he asked, his tone perhaps a bit too   
accusatory.  
  
She was about to reply when RB's shout cut her off. "Get ready to move out as   
soon as Robbins gets here," he told them. "We don't have much time before   
another full-blown cave-in, and I want to put as much distance between us and   
this ravine as I can."  
  
To punctuate his statement, the ground shook with another growing roar.  
  
"Robbins! Double time! Hustle, man!" RB shouted to him.  
  
Robbins nodded and backed up without delay. As he began to sprint forward, the   
ground gave another massive shake, and the cable sank another foot. Lurching   
forward on crumbling ground, Robbins lost his footing, and started plunging   
across the ravine. He had no sooner cast off when the tunnel behind him   
collapsed, and the wall that the held the harpoon in which the cable was   
embedded started to give way.  
  
Once again, the ground pulsated violently. Suddenly, the cable snapped, sending   
Robbins plunging face-first toward the side of the ravine in a sweeping arc.   
Hands grasping the trolley for dear life, he tried to lessen the impactthe only   
way he could: with his feet.  
  
All five figures watched in horrified silence as Robbins, a man weighing well   
over two hundred pounds, plunged toward the wall below them like a wrecking   
ball. At the last moment, the cable twisted, and his body turned sideways. There   
was a sickening snap as his foot caught in a crevice a split second before the   
rest of his body slammed into the rockface.  
  
Even above the rumbling of the cave-in, they could hear Robbins' agonizing   
scream.  
  
The violent sounds broke the temporary paralysis and RB shouted, "C'mon,   
somebody help me pull him up!"  
  
Carefully approaching the edge, Scully peered down the chasm. From the light   
cast by his belt LED, she could see Robbins dangling, his foot still wedged into   
the fissure, his leg twisted out at a disturbingly unnatural angle. "Wait!" she   
called to the others.  
  
But it was too late. The three remaining SEALs were already tugging on the   
cable. Robbins' body was lifted a few inches, but his foot remained pinned. He   
hollered in anguish as his injured leg was jostled.  
  
"Stop!" Scully shrieked. "His foot is trapped. You can't pull him up."  
  
"Fuck!" RB cursed, dropping the cable.  
  
Scully could see his mind at work furiously, searching for an alternative   
solution. Abruptly, she saw fierce determination cross his features. "Red, hand   
me that harness. I'm goin' down after him."  
  
"Mark, there's no way you can get to him," Socks protested, realizing the crazy   
rescue attempt his commander intended.  
  
"Just watch me," RB said, quickly donning the harness Scully handed him.  
  
Socks knew what was coming next. Without wasting breath on arguing, he signaled   
to Toller, who quickly approached with the launcher. Socks loaded it with a much   
smaller arrow, attached to a thick rope. Toller aimed it at the closest wall,   
and pulled the trigger. The steel arrow drilled into the stone, securing a   
shorter rope. He quickly cast the free end down the side of the ravine.  
  
"You'll never make it, Mark," Socks quietly protested, even as he helped him   
fasten his harness to the lifeline. "If there's another cave-in, you're both   
going to die down there."  
  
"Don't go writing my eulogy just yet," RB replied, checking the connection of   
his harness to the rope. "Toller, get these civilians to safety," he commanded.  
  
"Wait--what are you doing?" Mulder asked, watching as the SEAL leader backed   
toward the cliff's edge.  
  
"I've got a man down. Nobody's left behind on my watch." With that, he began to   
rappel down the ravine toward Robbins.  
  
"He's crazy!" Scully exclaimed, peering over the edge to watch his descent.  
  
"That's why we call him RB, ma'am," Socks said, though Scully's attention was   
now focused below them.  
  
Getting closer for a better look, Mulder had to admire the graceful descent. RB   
made rappelling look easy--but it could not be, not on that rough wall and with   
the shaking and falling debris.  
  
Just then, a shower of stalactites began to rain down on them, and Mulder   
instinctively pulled his partner back from the edge. Jerking away from his   
protective grasp in irritation, Scully's breath caught as a particularly large   
chunk of the ceiling fell. She hurried back to the edge, and watched as it   
barely missed RB by a couple feet as he continued to rappel down towards   
Robbins.  
  
The SEAL commander barely gave it a passing glance, so complete was his   
concentration on the task at hand. Unfortunately, even that could not prevent a   
strong gust of wind generated by the falling debris from pushing him off course.  
  
"C'mon, Agents," Toller prompted, trying to get them to move.  
  
Engrossed by the rescue attempt, Scully and Mulder ignored him. They watched RB   
hugging the face of the chasm, inching his way to where Robbins dangled   
helplessly.  
  
Socks just gripped the rope that held his CO and best friend tighter, making   
sure it was looped around a rock for extra measure.  
  
Having reached Robbins, RB was now working to extricate his soldier's trapped   
foot. Robbins' boot had become wedged tightly into a crevice, and he soon   
learned that no amount of pushing or pulling was going to get it free without   
damaging his leg or their position.  
  
"Now that he's gotten to him, how's he going to free his leg from the wall?"   
Mulder wondered aloud.  
  
In answer to Mulder's question, RB pulled a knife from his belt. He quickly   
began to work away at Robbins' bootlaces.  
  
"Guess that's quicker than untying them," Mulder remarked offhandedly.  
  
Socks guffawed. "Ain't possible to untie 'em. Only way to get off a SEAL's   
bootlaces is to cut 'em."  
  
"You must go through a hell of a lot of laces that way."  
  
"Beats leaving your boots behind in a pile of mud when you're hiking through a   
jungle 'coz you didn't tie 'em tight enough."  
  
"C'mon, you heard the Commander, Agents, let's move out," Toller told them,   
quickly growing impatient.  
  
Nodding, Mulder began to follow the soldier. When Scully did not do the same, he   
turned back around. "C'mon, Scully, let's go."  
  
"No, he might need our help," she protested, staying put beside Socks. She did   
not even bother to glance in Mulder's direction, so deeply was her concentration   
focused below on the SEAL commander.  
  
RB may have decided to cut the boot away, but it was was slow and agonizing   
business. Just severing the laces was not enough to extricate Robbins' foot. And   
the shallow width of the crevice made maneuvering his sizable blade delicate   
work--especially since he had to be careful not to cut into flesh. To say   
nothing of the fact that he was dealing with a tough, military-issue boot with   
thick leather and steel-reinforced toes and plates.  
  
What was worse, anything more than the slightest movement sent a sharp pain   
shooting up Robbins' leg. Grimacing, the young SEAL bit down on his lip to keep   
from crying out. It was not long before he tasted blood.  
  
RB was so intent on his task that he did not see a falling stalactite coming   
down toward him and Robbins--nor could he have dodged it, even if he had.  
  
"Look out!" Scully shouted in warning, but it was already too late.  
  
Luckily, the weight distribution of the stony missile caused it to fall broad-  
end down, saving them from being pierced by its tapered point. As it was, the   
falling stalactite caught RB a glancing blow on his shoulder. It caused no   
serious damage, but it was enough to make him drop his knife.  
  
"Fuck!" RB shouted, watching the knife careen off the wall and tumble down into   
the dark abyss below. "Robbins, do you still have your knife?"  
  
"Y-yeah. . . . Scabbard's . . . in my . . . other boot. . . ."  
  
Grunting, RB carefully reached around Robbins in an attempt to grab his knife.  
  
"RB . . . get outta here. . . . Leave me. . . . Save yourself. . . ."  
  
RB ignored the pleas.  
  
Just then, there was another low rumble that RB felt rattle his bones, even as   
more debris started falling toward them. He glanced upwards, and caught sight of   
Socks staring down at them.  
  
"Socks, you ass, get back to safety! Don't get hit!" RB called up from his   
position before turning his attention back to the task at hand. He completed the   
final slice through the thick leather. "Sorry, Robbins, this is going to hurt   
for a second."  
  
And with no more warning than that, he wrenched Robbins' foot out of the boot,   
causing a bubbling keen from the younger SEAL.  
  
"Pull him up!"  
  
Up top, the two SEALs and Mulder worked to hoist the injured man upwards, while   
Scully observed his ascent to ensure he was not thrust into any outcroppings on   
the ravine wall.  
  
RB watched as the fallen soldier reached the top and was pulled over the edge   
and out of sight. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. Now all that remained was   
for him to get his own sorry ass topside.  
  
Before beginning his own ascent, he spared another glance upwards. He looked up   
in time to see a huge rock, shaken from the cave ceiling, come tumbling down   
towards him.  
  
He was going to be hit. There was no time to move sideways--and nowhere to go . . .  
  
. . . but down.  
  
  
End Chapter 8  
  
  
***** 


	9. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 09/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 9  
  
  
The SEAL commander had no time to dodge the huge chunk of rock that was hurtling   
toward his precarious perch on the chasm wall.  
  
So he did the only thing he could: he rappelled, faster and faster downwards,   
sparing only a fleeting glance upwards. His gut tightened with trepidation.   
Rappelling downward was not going to help anymore, he had to move . . . NOW!  
  
With only seconds to spare, he used the force of his latest leap to push off   
sideways and away from the wall, hoping that by the time he swung back again the   
rock would have fallen past. His body moved in a graceful arc away from the   
falling rock.  
  
Above him, the observers breathed a collective sigh of relief.  
  
But it seemed they had relaxed too soon, for as RB went flying back towards the   
wall, he realized that he had miscalculated the timing: the rock, which was   
still hurtling downward in a motion roughly parallel to the cliff face, was now   
directly in his path. To his horror, he realized that he was headed straight for   
the spot where the rock was going to impact with the wall.  
  
To blunt the inevitable collision, he did much as Robbins had attempted earlier:   
he threw up his feet to intercept most of the impact. Only he did not twist   
sideways as Robbins had, and the soles of his boots contacted the rock. He was   
pushed straight backwards, the force of the impact jarring his knees and   
snapping his jaw shut with a loud crack.  
  
This time, when he arced back toward the wall, there was no boulder in his path.   
He kept swaying, a helpless pendulum. One heart-stopping swing. . . then a   
second . . . a third . . . and fourth one . . . before almost blindly, on a   
stroke of luck, he managed to snag a foothold and slow the dizzying motion.  
  
Finally stationary, RB hugged the cliff face, taking in gulpfuls of air. He soon   
gazed upward and saw Socks' grinning face staring down at him.  
  
"Pull me up!" he called.  
  
After several moments, he began to be hoisted upwards, unmindful of the still   
falling debris. There was not a lot of force behind the tug, and RB did some   
climbing himself to hasten his ascent. When he reached the top of the cliff-  
face, Socks grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and helped hoist him over the edge.   
Laying there on his belly, RB allowed himself another moment to catch his   
breath.  
  
"You did it, Mark!" Socks exclaimed, clasping him on the back. "You crazy   
motherfucker, you did it!"  
  
"Was there ever any doubt?" Grinning, RB raised his head and looked around. Only   
Socks remained in sight. "C'mon, bud, let's get the hell out of here."  
  
Nodding, Socks held out his hand and helped RB to his feet. Together, the two   
SEALs sprinted down the tunnel, dodging falling debris. Soon they caught up with   
the others, who had stopped to wait out the latest quake in a more sheltered   
area of the cave.  
  
As he came to a halt, RB caught sight of Scully kneeling beside Robbins' prone   
form.  
  
"Move the light closer, Mulder!" she barked.  
  
Her partner complied, crouching down and readjusting the beam of the light   
Toller had given him from his belt to better illuminate Robbins' injured leg.   
The leg jutted out from his side at mid-calf level, and amidst the ragged,   
bleeding flesh, the light reflected off the glistening white of a jagged edge of   
exposed bone.  
  
Toller knelt beside Scully. He was using his knife to cut away Robbins' pant   
leg.  
  
"Socks, grab some light sticks," RB said, already reaching into his pocket for a   
pair. The two SEALs shook and snapped the sticks, mixing the chemicals contained   
in the flexible plastic tubes, and set them up near where the others had   
gathered around Robbins.  
  
Though RB had no idea where they came from, he now saw that Scully had managed   
to don a pair of latex gloves. She was gently examining the injured area. "Looks   
like a grade three open fracture of the left tibia and fibula."  
  
"We'll have to set it and splint it," RB said, moving closer. He noted with   
relief that the tremors in the cave seemed to be subsiding.  
  
"I'm also going to have to bandage it to prevent further contamination," Scully   
added. "Normally, I wouldn't want to manipulate the leg, because I could cause   
further damage. But, unfortunately, it's going to be virtually impossible to   
bandage the injury and transport him comfortably without my trying to reduce the   
fracture and stabilize the leg. So you're right, Commander--first things first.   
I suggest somebody restrain him. This is not going to be pleasant."  
  
Nodding, RB gestured to Socks, and they moved over toward Robbins' head.   
Kneeling on either side of him, they each pressed their weight on one of his   
shoulders, using their free hands to grasp each of his in turn.  
  
"Hang in there, Eric," Socks said. "It's gonna be okay."  
  
"Fuck the macho act," RB told him plainly. "You wanna scream, you scream and   
yell bloody murder. That's an order, soldier."  
  
"Robbins," Scully called, trying to get his attention, "I'm going to set your   
leg. I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt," she warned him. "You ready?"  
  
Pale face slick with perspiration, Robbins nodded weakly. It was only then that   
Scully realized how young the soldier was: he could not have been a day over   
twenty. Her heart went out to the young man, who had no choice but to endure   
such a painful injury and her makeshift treatment under such horrendous   
conditions.  
  
"Okay. On three. One . . . two . . . three!" Scully carefully gripped his leg   
and moved it back into position slowly to fatigue the muscles and thus hopefully   
avoid causing any further injury.  
  
Robbins bellowed loudly, his pain-laced howls echoing throughout the small cave   
chamber. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he gasped, even as he struggled to draw a full   
breath. "Oh sweet Jesus! Lord have fucking mercy!"  
  
"Easy does it, kid," RB said gently. "It's over." He watched as Robbins' eyes   
suddenly rolled back. "Robbins?" he asked, gently shaking him. "Eric, can you   
hear me?" he asked again, gently tapping his cheek with the back of his hand.   
"Shit! I think he passed out."  
  
"Probably just as well," Scully said."Just feel for his pulse. Let me know if it   
gets weak."  
  
"All right," RB said, feeling the side of his neck. He was silent for several   
long seconds. "Got it!" he announced finally. "Strong and steady."  
  
"Good." Scully surveyed the damage. "The wound's covered in dust and dirt, and   
we don't want all that seeping around in there--not with exposed bone. I need to   
clean the wound. Does anyone have anything I can use to flush this out?"  
  
"My canteen's pretty full," Toller offered her.  
  
"Open it," she commanded. "Now, pour it over the wound. Slowly."  
  
Toller knelt down beside her and did as she asked.  
  
"Good, now over here," she said, directing the flow of water.  
  
"That's an awful lot of blood," Toller remarked.  
  
Scully's brow furrowed. There *was* a lot of blood being flushed out along with   
the dirt and water. "Hold up!" she said, raising a hand. She gently examined the   
wound more closely. Suddenly, she was splattered in the face with blood. "Shit!   
He's got a bleeder! Probably the anterior or posterior tibial. If we don't stop   
it, he's going to bleed out! Toller," she said, realizing he was closest, "I   
need you to make a make-shift tourniquet. Tie it around his leg, right below the   
knee."  
  
"What should I use?"  
  
"Anything! Just hurry!"  
  
"Here," Mulder said, pulling off his jacket. "Use the sleeve."  
  
"I'm going to have to try to tie off the vessel," Scully continued, already   
formulating a mental list of the items she would require. "I need something   
absorbent to sop up some of this blood. A hemostats or something small to probe   
the area with and to clamp off the vessel. Some kind of suture material, along   
with a knife or scissors to cut it with. Do any of you have some sort of fine   
wire? Thread? Dental floss? Anything?"  
  
"I've got some fishing line," Socks said, reaching into one of the pockets of   
his BDUs.  
  
"Will this do for a clamp?" RB asked, handing her a needle-nosed pliers.  
  
"Perfect," she said, snatching it from him.  
  
"Here's a towel," Mulder said, tossing her a small cloth from his satchel.  
  
"How big a piece ya want?" Socks asked, pulling out his own knife along with the   
fishing line.  
  
"Cut me off a couple pieces a little over a foot long," Scully told him.   
"Toller, use your hands to add to the pressure on that tourniquet. Mulder, get   
that damned light closer."  
  
Robbins moaned as Toller squeezed on his leg.  
  
"Looks like he's starting to come 'round," RB said. He watched as the young   
SEAL's eyes slowly fluttered open.  
  
"Here ya go, Scully," Socks said, holding out the pieces of fishing line.  
  
"Just give me a sec to isolate the vessel," she said, using the tip of the   
pliers to poke around the area.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Robbins moaned, even as he reached up to grasp his   
commander's sleeve with knuckle-whitening tightness. "RB . . . how . .. how bad   
. . . is it? . . . Am . . . Am I . . . gonna . . . lose my leg?"  
  
"Not if I have anything to say about it, Robbins," Scully assured him. "Just   
stay with us."  
  
"You sure you know what you're doing there, Red?" Socks asked from over her   
shoulder.  
  
"She's a doctor," Mulder informed him. "Or did you think she picked this up in   
the girl scouts?"  
  
"No shit? What the hell is an MD doing working for the Bureau?" Socks asked, his   
tone belligerent, but non-confrontational. "Aren't you supposed to get the big   
bucks from private practice?"  
  
"It was an act of rebellion," Scully said, "to piss my parents off. Got it!" she   
said, squeezing on the pliers. "Socks, hold these for me," she told him. "Not   
too hard, you don't want to tear the vessel wall, but not so loose as to let the   
blood seep through."  
  
He handed Mulder the fishing line. "Christ!" Socks muttered, surprised by how   
much his hands were shaking as he took the pliers from her. In his years as a   
Navy SEAL, he had gone on countless covert missions, detonated bombs, parachuted   
from planes in the dead of night, dodged enemy fire, killed and maimed dozens of   
men with many different weapons and various forms of hand-to-hand combat. But   
none of that held a candle to assisting with emergency surgery on one of his   
teammates.  
  
"That's it. Nice, even pressure. Okay, where's that suture material?"  
  
"Here, Scully," Mulder said, handing a piece to her.  
  
"Hope I can remember the friction knot," Scully muttered as she attempted to tie   
off the vessel.  
  
"I take it you're not a surgeon," RB said.  
  
"Forensic pathologist," Scully replied as her fingers moved deftly, twisting the   
fine wire this way and that.  
  
"In other words, you usually cut 'em open, not sew 'em back up?"  
  
"You could say that. Ta da! Just like riding a bike. Scissors!" she called,   
holding out her palm.  
  
"That pliers is also a wire cutter," RB informed her.  
  
"I'll be damned. Just like an Olsen-Hegar. Socks, just hold on another minute. I   
want to place another suture in case this one slips and then I'll trim 'em both   
at once."  
  
Mulder handed her the other piece of fishing line, and Scully tied another knot.  
  
"Socks, go ahead and ease up on the pressure, and then slowly move the pliers   
away," Scully said. After he returned the pliers to her, she carefully trimmed   
the ends off of the knots, handing the remaining pieces of line back to Mulder.   
Then she gently dabbed the area with the towel.  
  
"So far so good. Now I just have to find the other end of the vessel. It should   
be in the distal end of the break."  
  
They all watched in silence as Scully continued her exploratory surgery, now   
fishing for the other piece of severed artery. Her brow was furrowed in   
concentration. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip. Frustrated, she was   
beginning to fear that she would not be able to find it.  
  
*Calm down, Dana. It's there. It's gotta be.* She used the cloth to blot away   
some blood, and then observed carefully. She noticed an area where a small   
amount of blood began to pool. Looking closer at that spot, she finally found   
her quarry. "I think . . . Got it!"  
  
There was a collective sigh of relief as she clamped the pliers. "Socks?"  
  
"Right here, Doc," he said, relieving her. "Mulder has the fishing line."  
  
"Great." Scully took it from him and tied two more knots. Socks removed the   
clamp, and she trimmed the edges and then gently blotted the area. She had   
Toller remove the tourniquet, and then she watched for several long seconds. "I   
think the bleeding's finally stopped." She paused to wipe the perspiration from   
her forehead with her sleeve.  
  
"Way to go, Doc!" Socks said, playfully slapping her on the back.  
  
"Yeah, great job, Scully!" Mulder said, beaming in praise of his partner's   
skill. It was not very often that she got to use her medical knowledge ante   
mortem, and he sometimes forgot what a skilled physician she could be.  
  
"How ya holdin' up, Robbins?" RB asked, looking down at the injured SEAL.  
  
Robbins opened his eyes and managed a small smile. "Doin' okay, Skipper."  
  
Scully gently touched Robbins' foot, was relieved to find that it was still   
relatively warm. Then she felt the area right above his ankle with two fingers.   
She sighed softly when she felt the pulse beneath the area of injury; both of   
these were a good sign that his lower leg and foot were still receiving adequate   
vascular flow.  
  
"Now we just have to find some material to use to bandage and splint the leg,"   
Scully said, looking around expectantly. "I'd like to do a Robert Jones, so I'm   
going to need plenty of padding," she explained, already removing her own   
windbreaker.  
  
RB looked at each of his men in turn. "Help her out, guys," he said, already   
pulling off his helmet and the black balaclava he wore beneath. Toller and Socks   
began to follow suit, removing their own cloth caps. "Take the shirts of your   
backs if you've got to. Hop to it!"  
  
A few minutes later, the SEALs had gathered several pieces of material from   
various items of clothing, which she used to wrap around Robbins' leg from knee   
to ankle to completely immobilize it, along with the resin sheaths from RB and   
Socks' six-inch combat knives to serve as a splint. RB handed her his own   
personal roll of duct tape to use to keep it all together. Satisfied that it was   
stable, but not too tight so as to impinge on the compromised blood supply,   
Scully used Mulder's backpack to elevate the leg. She then checked on Robbins'   
vitals before getting up and walking to the far end of the passageway to stretch   
her own legs.  
  
Issuing Robbins a few encouraging words, RB left him under Toller's watchful eye   
and followed Scully. She sat leaning against the wall, forehead resting on her   
knees.  
  
"Drink?" he asked, offering her his canteen.  
  
She looked up at him and smiled gratefully. "Thanks," she said, taking it from   
him. Tipping her head back, she took several greedy swallows before wiping her   
mouth with the back of her hand and holding it out to him.  
  
"You've, uhm, got some blood on your cheek. You might want to use a little to   
get it off."  
  
"Oh. I forgot about that." She wet one of her hands and scrubbed at her face for   
a bit. "Did I get it all?" she asked, turning her head to give him a better   
view.  
  
"Almost."  
  
Scully rubbed at her face again. "Now?"  
  
"Here, let me." RB reached over and gently rubbed at her cheek with his thumb.   
"There. Good as new."  
  
"Thank you," she said, handing him back his canteen.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, as though searching for the right words. "What you   
did back there with Robbins--that was amazing," he said before taking a long   
drag from the canteen.  
  
Scully looked up at him, watching the way his adam's apple bobbed as he   
swallowed.  
  
"It was no big deal," she replied. "Just glad I could help."  
  
"No big deal? No big deal! Fuck, Scully, you just saved his life! If you weren't   
here, we would have straightened out his leg, taped it up, and then he would   
have bled to death before we got a hundred feet. So don't tell me it's no big   
deal."  
  
She felt her face grow warm, and was glad that he would not be able to see it in   
the near-darkness. "Hey, you're the one who rappelled down the side of a ravine,   
dodging falling stalactites and boulders to save him in the first place. That   
was one hell of a crazy stunt. It was incredibly courageous of you, putting your   
life on the line like that."  
  
"He's one of my men. As far as I'm concerned, any one of us would've done the   
same thing. Besides, that was pure adrenaline and testosterone. What you did,   
that required knowledge. Skill. Talent."  
  
"Like anyone could move down a cliff-face like you did? But let's not sing each   
other's praises too much. He's not out of the woodsyet. We need to get him to a   
hospital ASAP. He needs proper medical attention, surgery. He's at incredible   
risk for an infection, not to mention vascular compromise. I didn't find any   
other major problems when I looked him over before tending to his leg, but,   
still, God knows what other injuries he might have that we can't detect. And we   
need to monitor him for signs of shock."  
  
"All I know is, Robbins got another chance because of you. For that, I just   
wanted to say thanks," he told her, holding out his hand.  
  
"You're welcome, Commander," she said, taking it. His fingers closed around her   
smaller hand, holding tight. She smiled up at him warmly.  
  
"Oh, I believe this is yours," he said, reaching to the back of his belt and   
producing her gun. "I thought you might like to have it back." He silently   
handed it to her. Then he turned to leave. He took only a step or so before   
turning back. "Riskey," he called to her.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"That's my name. Mark Riskey. I figured it was high time we were properly   
introduced."  
  
She smiled at him again. "A pleasure to meet you, Mark Riskey."  
  
"Believe me, Doc, the pleasure's all mine." Returning the smile, he walked back   
to where the others were gathered. "Let's take five more minutes, gentlemen, and   
then we'll head out."  
  
Scully watched as Commander Riskey stopped to talk to Robbins and Toller before   
settling down next to Socks. The latter pulled out his tracking device, and they   
looked it over together--no doubt plotting their next course.  
  
There was definitely more to him than she had initially thought. He was not the   
pompous, overbearing, arrogant bastard she had assumed him to be. He was a good   
soldier, a competent leader, a compassionate man who cared about his friends and   
teammates. And he was one hell of a risk taker, willing to put his life on the   
line for one of his own. The intense loyalty he demonstrated was a trait she   
valued strongly. And that kind of selfless bravery was incredibly attractive. As   
was the man himself. It had been a long time since Scully had been so intrigued   
by a man. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.  
  
"Looks like you got your weapon back, too," came Mulder's voice.  
  
Scully gave a start, and looked up to see him standing above her. Apparently,   
she had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had not noticed his approach.  
  
"Yeah, it seems Commander Riskey had a change of heart."  
  
"Riskey, huh? Name suits him. Though it seems giving you your gun was not the   
only thing he shared."  
  
Scully grinned.  
  
"I'd say that had a lot to do with your little MacGyver maneuver back there. You   
give new meaning to the phrase 'necessity is the mother of invention'."  
  
She arched an eyebrow. "If that's supposed to be a compliment, then thanks,   
Mulder."  
  
"It is, Scully. I, uh . . . I guess you don't hear those from me very often.   
Uhm, perhaps it's time I changed that."  
  
She glanced up at him, astonished. She helped save one person's life, and now   
all the men around her were suddenly turning over new leaves? What the hell was   
going on? Perhaps she should exploit this doctor-as-healer role more often.  
  
"So, you think we can trust them?" Mulder asked her.  
  
"I think so. Before crossing the ravine, I wasn't too sure. But right now, I   
think they owe us enough to not leave us behind and to make sure we get out of   
here alive."  
  
"Why do you think they're down here?"  
  
"Looking for something."  
  
"But what? You think it has anything to do with the murders?"  
  
"I don't know, Mulder. Why don't you ask Socks? It seems like he's your new   
buddy now."  
  
"Actually, I was hoping you could ask Riskey. Especially now that he seems to   
have. . . ." his voice trailed off abruptly.  
  
Scully looked up at him expectantly. "Now that he seems to have what?"  
  
Mulder hesitated. He really did not want to put voice to the words. Though it   
was not as though his speaking them aloud would first put the idea in Scully's   
head; after their little trip across the ravine, the seed had already been   
planted. "Now that he seems . . . indebted to you," Mulder settled upon.  
  
Scully gave him a knowing smile. After nearly seven years together, the subtext   
was obvious. "I can give it a try."  
  
"Let's go! Time to move out!" Riskey called to them. "Socks, you take point.   
I'll carry Robbins. Toller, you take up the rear." He looked over to where   
Mulder and Scully were talking. "You coming, Agents?"  
  
"Be right there!" Scully called, giving a little wave. "No rest for the weary,"   
she sighed.  
  
"Well, with all these cave-ins, I'd just as soon get the hell out of here,"   
Mulder said, holding out his hands to help pull Scully to her feet.  
  
"You know, Mulder, for the first time during this godforsaken case, I think I   
agree with you," she said as she walked over to Robbins to give him the once-  
over. She was relieved to find that he appeared relatively stable, given the   
extent of his injuries.  
  
"First time for everything, huh, Scully?" Mulder asked as they took their spots   
in the middle of the procession.  
  
Scully was only half-listening, her attention now focused on the man in front of   
her. She watched as Riskey hoisted Robbins into a fireman's carry. He barely   
shrugged under the weight--which was amazing, considering the younger man's   
hefty build. At first, Robbins protested being toted around, but his commander   
quickly quelled his complaints, explaining that they could cover more ground   
this way. With that, they were off.  
  
*Yes, indeed,* Scully thought as she watched Riskey's backside and his powerful,   
commanding stride during their hike. *There's definitely a first time for   
everything.*  
  
  
End Chapter 9  
  
  
***** 


	10. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 10/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 10  
  
  
The group had been hiking for well over an hour in the dank, humid, underground   
cave. The path had been headed steadily uphill over sometimes fairly rough   
terrain. Commander Riskey had been pushing his band of SEALs and the two agents   
hard, hoping to get them all out of there in one piece and the injured Robbins   
to a hospital as quickly as possible.  
  
It had been tough going, and the exertion was beginning to take its toll. Socks   
and Toller seemed to be coping well--they had endured far worse hikes under much   
worse conditions on other missions. But their civilian companions were faring   
far worse. They had been falling further and further behind as time went on.   
From what Riskey could gather from their brief exchanges, the agents had been   
wandering around the cave passageways for well over half the day with few   
breaks.  
  
He spared a glance over his shoulder. Mulder's eyes were almost entirely closed,   
and he nearly stumbled on the path. Scully, too, looked exhausted--she was   
practically dragging her feet. He had to remind himself that they were not   
soldiers, not well-trained members of his team. It was a testament to their   
endurance that they had not complained at all. Well, except for Mulder's   
occasional whine of "Are we there yet?"  
  
Nonetheless, Riskey realized that if he did not let up on them soon, they were   
not going to be able to go on any further. And truth to tell, after lugging   
around two-hundred plus pounds of dead weight, he could use a little breather   
himself.  
  
"Socks, Toller, hold up!" he called ahead.  
  
The two SEALs halted instantly and turned to face him. Their stance was that of   
alert readiness, adept hands already headed for their guns. Inwardly, Riskey   
beamed with pride at how seasoned his men were, how their training was now so   
ingrained, so instinctual, even under these less-than-ideal circumstances. At   
moments like these, he realized that countless hours of backbreaking, relentless   
practice was well worth the effort.  
  
"What's up, boss-man?" Socks asked.  
  
*Fucking amazing how he always manages to sound so damned cheerful,* Riskey   
thought, half in irritation, half in wonder. "Let's stop here for a few minutes   
of recon. The path forks up there, and I think we should survey ahead and see   
which is the better trail to take," he said, catching Scully's eyes.  
  
Realizing that they were going to get a break, she smiled at him gratefully.  
  
"Socks, you take the left, Toller the right, and report back here in ten   
minutes."  
  
"Aye-aye, Commander," Toller said before heading out.  
  
With a wink and a nod, Socks, too, was off.  
  
"How ya doin', Robbins?" RB asked as he carefully lowered him to the ground.  
  
"Okay, Skipper," Robbins replied weakly, wincing as Riskey elevated his bandaged   
leg onto a nearby rock.  
  
"Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Thirsty. . . ."  
  
RB pulled out his canteen. He then carefully helped Robbins into a sitting   
position so that he could take a drink.  
  
From a few feet away where she stood with her partner, Scully watched Riskey in   
awe. It was amazing how this man, who just a couple of hours earlier was   
rappelling down a ravine and wielding a knife in the epitome of true machismo   
could now cradle this other man's head and tend to him with such tenderness. In   
many ways, it seemed that his outward appearance of a rough-and-tumble,   
gunslinging, no-shit-taking hardassed Navy SEAL was a front, an act to cover the   
kind, gentle soul that lay underneath. Obviously, to some he let his inner self   
show, as he did now with Robbins. But how many people were so privy to this side   
of him? She wondered what it would take to become one of those people to whom he   
let his guard down. Almost immediately afterwards, she questioned why it even   
mattered to her.  
  
"I'm gonna go check on Robbins," she said to Mulder.  
  
Nodding, he decided to walk with her.  
  
"How do you feel?" Scully asked Robbins, kneeling beside him. Noting the pallor   
of his skin, she briefly felt his forehead with the back of her hand. When she   
then gently grasped his wrist to take his pulse, she noticed that his fingers   
were cold.  
  
"Well, my leg hurts like bloody murder, ma'am," he admitted. "Don't suppose   
you've got any morphine?"  
  
"Unfortunately, I left my doctor's bag at home," she replied sympathetically as   
she looked at her watch.  
  
"Yeah, usually she carries an entire pharmacy with her," Mulder informed him.   
"I'm always getting into all kinds of trouble."  
  
Robbins managed a small laugh. "I believe it."  
  
Scully forced a smile as she considered Robbins' condition. His pulse rate was   
still relatively fast, but it now also felt weaker than the last time she had   
checked it. These pulse qualities, as well as his pale complexion and the   
coolness of his extremities, were signs of hypovolemic shock. His body was   
compensating for the blood loss he had incurred by rerouting blood flow from his   
arms and legs to maintain vital organ function. She was worried that if the   
shock progressed to late stages, and his body was no longer able to supply an   
adequate amount of blood to his heart and brain, he could experience cardiac   
arrhythmia, undergo organ damage, or even lapse into a coma. She was heartened   
by the fact that thus far, Robbins still seemed alert and was not displaying any   
signs of depressed mental status. Nonetheless, she would still have to keep a   
close eye on him.  
  
As Robbins and Mulder continued their conversation, Scully rose to her feet and   
realized that Riskey was no longer standing with them. Turning, she caught sight   
of the commander a few feet away, raising his arms high over his head, threading   
his fingers together and pushing upwards. She watched as he then bent over at   
the waist and touched the ground easily with both palms, stretching out the   
muscles of his lower back. With his BDU tunic having contributed to Robbins'   
bandage and his snug white undershirt now soaked with sweat, the ample muscles   
of his chest and back were easily outlined. With such a well-defined physique,   
it was no wonder he had been able to carry his injured teammate with what   
appeared to be little effort for the past hour. Still, that kind of burden had   
to be taking its toll.  
  
"Stiff?" Scully asked, walking over to him as he bent an arm back across his   
neck and pulled on his elbow to stretch out his shoulder muscles.  
  
"Just gotta shake it out a bit, and then I'll be fine. How about you? How're you   
holding up?"  
  
"I'm fine," Scully said, the pat reply instinctual.  
  
He gave her a disbelieving look, but said nothing as he switched arms.  
  
Scully was expecting him to call her on it, to argue that she actually looked   
like the walking dead. So she was rather surprised when his only words were to   
offer her a drink from his canteen.  
  
"Thanks," she replied, taking a couple small sips before handing it back to him.   
He took a few gulps.  
  
"Got any more in there?" Mulder asked, walking over.  
  
RB wordlessly handed him the canteen and Mulder downed several long gulpfuls.   
"Too bad it's not something a bit stronger," he replied, handing it back.  
  
"I'd be grateful we have anything to drink at all," Scully snapped in   
irritation. "And that the commander and his team are willing to find us a way   
out."  
  
"I think we were doing just fine until we came upon the SEALs," Mulder replied,   
suddenly on the defensive.  
  
Scully stifled a laugh as she planted her hands on her hips. "Would that be when   
we were wallowing in bat guano? Or when you were leading us around in circles?   
Or perhaps that was when we fell down the sink hole? I don't know about you,   
Mulder, but in my mind, that hardly classifies as 'fine'."  
  
"And you think we're doing any better now? I don't see an exit anywhere in   
sight."  
  
"I'm sure the Commander knows what he's doing. He *is* a trained soldier after   
all."  
  
"Well, why don't we ask him, hmm?" Mulder turned his attention to the SEAL   
leader. "Well, Commander? Do you know how far we are from daylight?"  
  
Agent Mulder was a real piece of work, RB realized. How Scully put up with him   
full time was beyond his comprehension. Crossing his arms, Riskey fought the   
urge to smile, instead forcing himself to look authoritative. "My guess is under   
an hour. The last Socks saw on his tracker, the outside looked to be about a   
mile away."  
  
"If we're that close, then what the hell are we doing standing around twiddling   
our thumbs? Why aren't we moving?" Mulder demanded.  
  
"Not that I owe you an explanation for my actions, but since you asked, I'll   
humor you: my reasoning was two-fold. One, we don't know what sort of damage or   
obstacles the cave-in created, so I sent Socks and Toller to go scout ahead and   
see what our options look like. Especially since I have two civilians' safety to   
worry about, I figured it was best to choose the safest route. I'm sure you can   
appreciate that."  
  
"Considering how little we know about this type of terrain, I know *I'm* most   
appreciative," Scully piped in.  
  
Mulder shot her a look, but all she did was smile sweetly.  
  
"Secondly," RB continued, "I thought it wise to give everyone a little break to   
catch their breath. I know the Bureau does not have the same rigorous physical   
training requirements as the military, and quite frankly, I was afraid you   
weren't going to be able to keep up."  
  
"Are you telling me I can't maintain your pace for our little hike? I'll have   
you know, I run three miles every morning."  
  
"Mulder, you were practically sleep-walking," Scully informed him.  
  
"We've only been on our feet for, what, the past sixteen hours? And you mean to   
tell me *you* weren't struggling through this last twenty minutes, Scully? Hell,   
even Mr. Macho Navy SEAL commander here was dragging his feet on that last leg."  
  
"In case you hadn't noticed, Mulder, Commander Riskey was toting two hundred or   
so extra pounds of weight on his shoulders--more than you even have attached to   
your own two feet--so if I were you, I wouldn't--"  
  
"For Christ's sake, Scully, since when did you become his biggest fan? I didn't   
take you for the cheerleader type."  
  
"I'm just able to recognize competence when I see it, that's all. What's wrong,   
Mulder?" she asked, stepping closer. "Jealous?"  
  
"All right, that's enough!" Riskey shouted. "Stop wasting your energy on   
pointless arguments. Agent Scully, while I appreciate the support, I can fight   
my own battles. And Agent Mulder, if my leadership decisions do not sit well   
with you, may I remind you that you are free to go at any time to try to find   
your own way out of these caves. Of course, with the chance of collapse pretty   
damned high, I would not suggest wandering off on your own. But the choice, of   
course, is yours to make at any time." He held out his hands toward the two   
possible paths.  
  
Mulder stood ramrod straight, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, eyes   
narrowed in contempt. Scully watched his jaw working, and wondered what quip   
would come out of his mouth next. His eyes shifted to the two passageways, and   
for a moment she actually thought he was about to go storming down one of them.  
  
"Personally, I'd rather take my chances. But I have enough common sense to   
realize that we all have better odds of getting out of here in one piece if we   
cooperate. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. Besides, Bureau regulations   
strictly prohibit me from abandoning my partner during a case."  
  
Scully rolled her eyes. Leave it to Mulder--the posterboy for insubordination   
and rule-breaking--to cite federal policy as an excuse for his actions. She was   
about to call him on it when she heard a faint noise from behind her.  
  
They all turned to see Toller emerge from the right passageway. Within a few   
moments, Socks came jogging out of the other tunnel. They must have their   
watches synchronized, Scully realized with a smile.  
  
"Well?" Riskey asked them.  
  
"No go, Skipper," Toller replied, shaking his head. "About a hundred feed ahead,   
the path is completely blocked. Probably happened in the cave-in."  
  
"Well, that makes the choice easy enough. Any obstacles you could see, Socks?"  
  
"None visible." Socks seemed to be buzzing with barely-controlled excitement.  
  
RB immediately called him on it. "Socks? What is it, man? What did you find?"  
  
"I was about fifty feet down the path when I spotted a small ravine off to the   
side. Much smaller and shallower than the one we crossed before. I got closer to   
assess it when the tracker went off. It lit up, clear as day on my display. It's   
there, RB. Gotta be somewhere near the ledge that was about twenty-five feet   
down. X marks the spot."  
  
"What's going on?" Scully asked.  
  
RB ignored her query. "It's *here*? Bloody hell! How accessible?"  
  
Socks grimaced. "Hard to say. It's somewhere down the narrow chasm. And here's   
the weird thing: the tremors that have been shaking the caves seem to be   
emanating from there."  
  
"What? How is that possible?"  
  
"Beats the fuck out of me. All I can tell you is that the object appears to be   
at the epicenter of the cave-ins. It's there, Mark, and it's powerful."  
  
"Fuck," Riskey muttered, pulling off his helmet and running his fingers over his   
short-cropped light brown hair. "This mission has turned into a royal goat   
fuck."  
  
"What's going on?" Mulder asked.  
  
"What's this object you two are talking about?" Scully questioned. "And what   
does it have to do with the quakes?"  
  
Socks said nothing, his gaze focused on his commanding officer. It was clear   
that he was deferring to Riskey's judgment.  
  
RB hesitated, obviously torn. This was a matter of mission security. He was   
under strict orders not to disclose any details in regards to this op. At the   
same time, he felt obligated to offer some explanation to the two agents. After   
all, his decision of how to deal with this matter would have direct consequences   
on their general welfare.  
  
"Commander?" Scully asked again, placing a cool hand on his arm. "Please, tell   
us what's going on."  
  
Riskey looked down at her, gaze centering on her deep blue eyes. For a moment,   
he felt as though she could see straight through him, that he was standing naked   
before her. It was the most unnerving sensation. He quickly got a hold of   
himself, shook it off. There was no time for daydreaming. He had a mission to   
complete, decisions to make.  
  
Riskey took a deep breath, having made up his mind. "During his recon, Socks   
located the object that we were sent here to find. This was supposed to be a   
locate and retrieve op. Our mission was to bring back this item--at all costs."  
  
"So can't we grab it on our way out?" Mulder suggested.  
  
Riskey snorted, and Socks actually guffawed. "Christ, G-Man, you crack me up!"   
Socks chuckled. "It ain't exactly the easiest thing to get at. Why else you   
think the government sent a SEAL team to get it?"  
  
"Well, how hard is it to retrieve?" Mulder asked. "Is it a matter of rappelling   
down another cliff? The Commander here seems to have that trick mastered. So   
it'll be a short digression, that's all."  
  
"Don't you get it?" RB said. "This thing has some mysterious energy, some   
unknown power source that could very well be generating the tremors. It's   
already in a precarious location. If we try to retrieve it, we may disturb it   
and trigger another cave-in."  
  
"Then that's reason enough to just leave it be," Scully said. "Commander, you've   
got an injured man in dire need of medical assistance. An open fracture is   
automatically considered contaminated. We've got roughly six hours from the time   
of injury to get him treated before the wound is considered infected. In other   
words, the longer it takes to get Robbins to a hospital, the worse his   
prognosis. We've already lost almost two hours. We really don't have time to   
stand here debating the matter."  
  
"She's right, RB," Socks agreed. "We've gotta get Robbins outta here. And these   
Feds aren't gonna last too much longer either. I say we scrap the mission and   
just get the hell out."  
  
The commander seemed torn. His obligations to his injured teammate and to his   
unexpected civilian charges were compelling. But so was the chance to complete   
this mission. He recognized the fact that it was largely a matter of pride.   
During his years as team leader, he had always achieved his mission objectives.   
Rarely had he ever even had a man injured. His record was one of the best in the   
history of the SEALs, so he was finding it very difficult to just walk away from   
his goal when it was practically within his reach. Though the reasons to let it   
go were quite persuasive, he felt as though he had to at least give it a try.   
And part of what made him such a successful commander--one of the main reasons   
his record was so impeccable--was because he was willing to go that extra mile,   
to shoulder that additional risk.  
  
*So, what's it going to be, RB?* he asked himself.  
  
"RB?" Socks asked. "Don't tell me you're actually considering retrieving the   
object? Christ, I knew I shouldn't have told you. . . ."  
  
"Socks, we have our orders," Riskey began. He knew he was going to have some   
serious convincing to do. Socks was not only a skilled soldier, he was also a   
good friend--his closest, in fact. Which meant that he was not hesitant to speak   
his mind to RB, even when the average soldier would hold his tongue. While   
Riskey normally appreciated such candor, there were times when he wished Socks   
would just remain obedient and follow his orders without questioning them.  
  
Needless to say, he was not expecting the most vehement objections to come from   
Agent Scully.  
  
"To hell with your orders! You have a man down, Commander. Robbins is showing   
signs of shock. It is my expert *medical* opinion that the more time you waste,   
the greater his chance of losing his leg, if not his life. You already risked   
your life to save his. Do you really want that to have been in vain? Is any   
goddammed mission objective worth that kind of sacrifice? Do you want that kind   
of responsibility on your shoulders?"  
  
She stared at him, face flushed, eyes flashing, chest heaving from her outburst.   
She was positively livid. And all Riskey could think was, *Lord, is she   
beautiful when she's angry.*  
  
She *was* right, though. It was not fair to put Robbins at any more risk than he   
already was. Nor was it fair to endanger her or Mulder by keeping them in these   
unpredictable caves any longer than was absolutely necessary. Which left him   
with only one other possible recourse. . . .  
  
"Socks, I want you and Toller to take Robbins and the Feds and head for the   
entrance."  
  
The other man looked at his superior in disbelief. "While you do what?"  
  
"I'm gonna try to retrieve the object."  
  
"You can't be serious!"  
  
"Perfectly. I'm going to try to get it. As soon as I do, I'll catch up. I   
shouldn't be more than fifteen, twenty minutes at the most."  
  
"Forget it, RB. It's too dangerous to attempt without backup."  
  
"When has that ever stopped me before? Socks, it's close. I've got to at least   
try."  
  
Socks shook his head. "Mark, please reconsider. C'mon, man, what's one of the   
first rules you beat into us about SpecWar? Never operate without backup. We   
don't dive without a swim buddy, we don't rappel without a partner. I can't   
leave you behind in good conscience."  
  
"You don't have a choice."  
  
"Mark, please don't do this."  
  
"I've already made up my mind," Riskey said, reaching into his pack for the   
necessary gear. "Get ready to move out."  
  
"But Mark--"  
  
"You've got your orders, soldier. I said move out."  
  
"No."  
  
RB looked up from his satchel. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said 'No'. I won't leave you behind." Socks stood with his arms at his sides.  
  
Riskey's face suddenly hardened. In two long strides, he closed the distance   
between them. "Are you disobeying a direct order, Lieutenant Xanthos?" Riskey   
growled, moving his face into Socks'.  
  
"Damn straight, I am." Socks' fists tightened.  
  
"You sonuva--" RB raised his arm.  
  
"All right, that's enough!" Scully shouted, quickly stepping between the two   
soldiers. She placed a firm hand on either man's chest, pushing them apart. "We   
don't have time for this argument. So please reign in your testosterone and stop   
all this macho posturing. We need to get out of here now, and we need to do it   
together."  
  
"Agent Scully, kindly remove your hand and step out of the way," Riskey   
grumbled.  
  
"I will not. Our best chance of getting out of here alive is to work together.   
Commander, we need your expertise, your guidance, to do that."  
  
"I'm warning you, Scully--"  
  
"Forget it, Scully," Mulder told her. "If these two grunts wanna duke it out,   
let 'em. Let's just go--"  
  
At that moment, the ground lurched violently, sending everyone stumbling for   
purchase. The rumbling did not subside, and bits of rock loosened from the walls   
and ceiling were quickly beginning to rain down on them.  
  
"Fuck! It's another cave-in! Everyone into the left corridor!" Riskey shouted.   
He looked around quickly, assessing the situation. Toller was nearest Robbins,   
Socks closest to Mulder. "Toller, grab Robbins! Socks, help the Feds!"  
  
Toller made his way to Robbins, lifted the other SEAL in a fireman's carry, and   
headed for the tunnel right behind Mulder and Socks. Riskey and Scully took up   
the rear.  
  
RB watched Socks and Mulder disappear into the darkness, just missing a sizable   
falling boulder. For a moment, his attention was focused on Toller, who stumbled   
under a particularly violent lurch, but quickly regained his footing. He heard   
Scully cry out a moment before she disappeared from his peripheral vision.   
Turning around, he saw her on the ground, having been thrown off her feet. He   
hurried back to her, grabbed her by the armpits, and roughly hoisted her to her   
feet. It was difficult for her to find her footing in the fierce quakes. He   
debated picking her up, but instead opted to take her hand and guide her to the   
passageway--which essentially meant dragging her behind him.  
  
They were about two yards shy of the opening when a huge boulder fell directly   
in their path. Looking up, Riskey realized that an extended ledge in the ceiling   
above them, which formed an archway in the cave, was crumbling. Any attempt to   
pass through the entrance under the archway meant navigating the falling debris.   
Which amounted to the considerable risk of being crushed beneath the rubble.   
Piss-poor odds as far as he was concerned.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and saw that jutting out from the wall to the left   
was a stone awning, seemingly reinforced and unlikely to collapse or even   
crumble.  
  
Another large rock falling a mere foot in front of them made his decision for   
him. Tightening his hold on Scully's hand, he darted to the left, yanking her   
along with him. He thought he could make out her shouts of protest, but he did   
not waste the energy on trying to explain his reasoning to her. It was not like   
she would be able to hear him anyway.  
  
In a few seconds, they had sprinted to the wall, and he pulled her in beside him   
against the rockface and squatted down.  
  
Scully looked up at him, and in the dim illumination from the light on his   
helmet, he could see the expression of utter terror on her pale face. It tugged   
at his heart. His gut instinct was to do whatever was in his power to protect   
her and keep her from harm.  
  
A stalactite fell just beyond their hiding place. Startled, Scully gave a sharp   
yelp, grabbing onto him tightly and ducking her head into his chest. He wrapped   
one arm around her back and the other over her head in a vain attempt to shield   
her body from any falling debris. He wondered if the others had made it through   
all right, hoped that they had managed to find similar shelter in which to wait   
out the storm of falling rock.  
  
Holding her tight, he closed his eyes and prayed that whatever was going to   
happen, it would be over soon.  
  
  
End Chapter 10  
  
  
***** 


	11. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 11/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 11  
  
  
We've compromised our pride  
And sacrificed our health  
We have to demand more  
Not of each other  
But more from ourselves  
  
  
  
When the latest cave-in erupted full force and Commander Riskey ordered the   
small band into the adjoining corridor, Mulder sprinted after Socks, running as   
though the devil himself were at his feet. He passed through the narrowing in   
the cave passageway only a few paces behind the SEAL, and saw him take a sharp   
left.  
  
Socks dove behind a yard-high rock, toward an area of the corridor that looked   
slightly out of the way and hopefully protected. Seconds later, Mulder followed   
suit.  
  
Mulder knew that Toller and Robbins had been a few yards behind him. As   
expected, a few moments later Toller arrived with the other SEAL on his back.   
Depositing his teammate on the ground beside him, he looked toward the entrance   
to the passageway.  
  
That left Scully and Riskey. They should have been right behind Toller; they   
could not have been more than half-a-dozen paces behind. Where were they?  
  
Impatient, Mulder got to his feet, crouching over the top of the barrier rock to   
get a better look at the entrance way. He sensed movement beside him, and   
through the corner of his eye made out Socks' form.  
  
"Maybe they're hurt!" Mulder shouted to be heard above the din of the rumbling   
rock. He started to rise to go back to find his partner when he felt Socks' hand   
grasp him firmly by the biceps.  
  
"Too dangerous!" Socks yelled.  
  
Shaking his head, Mulder began to pull away. He thought he could make out   
movement just beyond the approach to the corridor.  
  
Just then, a huge boulder fell in the opening, and the resulting tremors knocked   
them both to the ground.  
  
"We've got to get back!" Socks shouted. He tugged on Mulder's arm, pointing   
toward the wall where Toller and Robbins were crouched.  
  
With a final glance over his shoulder, Mulder reluctantly followed Socks,   
crawling back toward the wall. He and the three SEALs huddled together against   
the wall to wait out the cave-in.  
  
They waited many long, agonizing minutes before the tremors lessened and then   
finally subsided altogether. There was still a distant rumbling when Mulder   
extricated himself from the group of SEALs and headed back for the entranceway.  
  
"Mulder, wait!" Socks called. To no avail. "Goddammit, man, wait up!" He hurried   
after the agent. "We should wait until we're sure the activity has fully   
subsided."  
  
Ignoring him, Mulder strode determinedly toward the opening, carefully   
sidestepping fallen rocks and stalactites. He ground to an abrupt halt, and   
Socks nearly piled into him.  
  
"Mulder, what--?" Socks stopped short as it became suddenly, painfully obvious.  
  
There no longer was an opening. Where once there had been an entrance to the   
passageway they now occupied, there was now a wall of fallen rock, similar to   
the one created during the first cave-in.  
  
The one that had crushed Uncle Stu, killing him.  
  
"Scully!" Mulder shouted. "Can you hear me? Scully!"  
  
"RB!" Socks shouted. "Mark, are you there?!"  
  
There came no answer. If they were on the other side--if they were alive--they   
could not hear them.  
  
"Scully!" Mulder continued to shout. "Dammit, Scully, answer me!"  
  
"Mulder," Socks said gently. "It's no use."  
  
But Mulder did not hear him. All he knew was that his partner was on the other   
side of this barrier, possibly hurt--or worse. No, he would not think about   
that. She was alive. She had to be. He had to get to her, help her.  
  
"Scuuuullleeee!" Mulder shouted again.  
  
Still, no answer. Not that he truly expected one.  
  
Panic gripped his heart. She was trapped on the other side. She could be   
bleeding. Or unconscious. She needed him. He had to get to her. No matter what   
the cost, he had to reach her.  
  
He dropped to his knees and reached for the nearest rock, trying to dislodge it.  
  
"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?"  
  
"I've got to get to her. She's trapped there, Socks. She needs me." He continued   
trying to free the stone, scraping his knuckles in the process.  
  
"Are you crazy, man? If you get that out, you could send this entire wall   
crashing down on top of us!"  
  
"I don't care!" Mulder shouted, clawing helplessly at the rock barrier. "Hold   
on, Scully! I'm coming! I'll get you out!"  
  
Socks watched the other man working futilely to raze the wall in a crazed,   
frenzied manner. Odds were he would not be able to dislodge any of the stones.   
Even so, he would likely abrade the hell out of his hands in the process. In all   
good conscience, Socks could not just sit back and watch Mulder maim himself.  
  
"C'mon, Mulder, stop it," Socks said gently, placing a staying hand on the other   
man's arm.  
  
"Get off!" Mulder spat, shoving the hand away. "If you're not gonna help me,   
then get the hell outta my way!"  
  
"What's going on?" Toller asked, walking over. "What's he doing?"  
  
"Trying to get to his partner," Socks replied sadly. It was clear to him from   
Mulder's frantic movements that it was not merely a partner he was trying to   
reach; not simply a dear friend; it was someone who meant much more to him.  
  
"He's totally flipped out!" Toller said, watching Mulder work at the wall in an   
almost maniacal fashion, his knuckles now raw and bleeding.  
  
"Poor bloke," Socks murmured to himself. He could not stand to watch any longer.   
"C'mon, Mulder, this isn't doing anybody any good." He grabbed him by the wrist   
to stay one of his hands.  
  
"Let go of me, Socks."  
  
"Not until you come back away from the wall."  
  
"I've got to get to her."  
  
"Mulder, there's no way you can reach her."  
  
"Like hell there isn't!"  
  
"Please, Mulder, I don't want to have to hurt you."  
  
"Fuck off!" Mulder took a swing at him.  
  
Socks was able to dodge the blow easily. Signaling to Toller, the two SEALs   
grabbed Mulder and pulled him back away from the wall.  
  
"Let go!" Mulder howled. "Get off me, you bastards! Let me go!" He was   
struggling violently, trying to free himself from their grasp.  
  
Socks sighed to himself. He had hoped it would not come to this, but Mulder's   
borderline berserk behavior left him with little choice. He caught Toller's eye   
and signaled to him. Toller nodded in understanding, and loosened his hold on   
Mulder almost imperceptibly.  
  
Releasing his own grip, Socks balled his right hand into a fist and punched   
Mulder square in the jaw just as Toller broke his remaining hold on Mulder. Even   
with Socks' pulling his punch at the last moment, the force of the blow sent the   
agent sprawling to the ground. For a while, he lay there in a daze, trying to   
figure out what had just happened.  
  
Socks silently knelt beside him. He looked down at Mulder, slowly shaking his   
head. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I really didn't want to do that, but you left me with   
no alternative. Now, are you going to sit here and carry on a civil conversation   
with me, or do I have to slug you again?"  
  
In response, Mulder slowly sat up, rubbing at his sore chin. "Jesus, man! You   
could have broken my jaw!"  
  
"Believe me, if I had meant to, it *would* be broken. Now, are you going to sit   
still and listen to me?"  
  
Reluctantly, Mulder nodded.  
  
"Good. Look, man, I'm sorry about your partner. Remember, my friend is over   
there, too. As much as I wish it could be otherwise, there's no way we can get   
to them. We just have to hope that they're alive on the other side."  
  
"They could be hurt. They could be lying there, unconscious, bleeding, needing   
our help."  
  
"Odds are, they took cover, same as us. If not, then unfortunately there's not   
much we can do about it."  
  
"Don't you SEALs carry radios or some sort of communication device? Can't you   
contact him?"  
  
"Unfortunately, we haven't been able to transmit down here. Apparently, our   
radios don't work this far underground."  
  
"Then we have no way of knowing. . . ."  
  
"We're just going to have to hope for the best. Assume that they can find an   
alternative way out, and then signal us when they get topside."  
  
Mulder looked unconvinced.  
  
"Listen, Mulder, RB is the best SEAL CO I know. We went through hell week   
together--we started out as swim buddies. I've worked with him on hundreds of   
ops for well over ten years. They don't come better or more experienced than   
him. If anyone can navigate your partner through these caves and get her to the   
outside, it's RB."  
  
"I hope you're right, Socks."  
  
"RB has never let me down before. Now, c'mon, I think we're about an hour's hike   
from the exit. We need to get moving and get Robbins to a doctor. You with us?"   
Socks stood up and held out his hand.  
  
Mulder looked from the outstretched hand back to the wall, eyes lingering there   
for a long time. Finally, he gave a weary sigh and grasped Socks' hand. The SEAL   
helped him to his feet. They went to collect Robbins and Toller and begin the   
last leg of the hike they hoped would bring them out of the caves.  
  
As they started to move out, Mulder gave the wall one last forlorn glance.  
  
*Don't worry, Scully. I'll find you,* he vowed. *I won't leave here until I make   
sure you get out of this cave, safe and sound.*  
  
  
*****  
  
  
For a while, it had seemed as though the ground and walls would never stop   
shaking. Even when they finally did, Scully and Riskey sat clinging to one   
another for several minutes longer, making sure that the violent activity was   
over.  
  
Scully's heart had been racing, and now as her breathing began to slow, she felt   
it finally returning to normal.  
  
"You okay?" she heard him ask, even as he released his tight hold on her. Taking   
her by the shoulders, he moved her to arm's length so that he could get a good   
look at her face.  
  
Slowly, she nodded her head. She looked up at him, marveled at how calm and   
collected he appeared.  
  
"You sure? Not hurt anywhere?" She felt his rough hand lightly touch her cheek,   
realized then that he was moving a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking   
it behind her ear. His touch was electric, suddenly setting her nerves on fire.  
  
She found herself holding her breath, even as she savored the sensation and her   
body's reaction to it. She gazed up at him, eyes locking with his own.  
  
Abruptly, his expression changed to one of worry. "Scully, did you hear me? Are   
you hurt?" His hands moved to cup her face. "Can you speak?"  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, found she had no   
voice. She licked her lips, took a deep breath. "I- I'm fine," she whispered   
finally.  
  
"You sure?" he asked again.  
  
She nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm fine."  
  
He smiled. "Good. You had me worried there for a moment that you had hit your   
head or something." He let go of her.  
  
She was sorry to no longer feel his warm touch. Closing her eyes, she took   
another deep breath. *Pull yourself together, Dana. This is neither the time nor   
the place to let your hormones take control.* "What about you?" she asked. "Are   
you injured?"  
  
"None the worse for wear," he replied, getting to his feet. "We should go catch   
up with the others." He held out his hand to her.  
  
Smiling, she took it, felt his fingers grip hers a moment before he helped her   
to her feet. Even then, he did not release his grasp, instead holding tight as   
he carefully led them through piles of rubble toward the tunnel entrance.  
  
"Shit!" he spat, coming up short.  
  
Or rather, the spot where the entrance to the tunnel used to be. In its place   
was a pile of rocks that extended clear up to the ceiling.  
  
"Oh, shit!" Scully echoed. "I don't suppose we can move this."  
  
"Not unless we want to risk sending it all crashing down on top of us."   
Releasing her hand, he began to carefully examine the barrier, she assumed   
searching for any kind of opening. His search soon came up empty. "Socks!" he   
called, shouting loudly. "Toller! Robbins! Can you hear me?"  
  
They listened for several moments before he tried again briefly. Still, there   
came no answer.  
  
"Now what?" Scully asked.  
  
"Now we backtrack the way we came, and hope the tunnel is not blocked. I   
remember another fork in the path about a quarter-mile back. So long as the   
other corridor is still open, we're going to have to follow it and see where it   
takes us. Hopefully, to the outside."  
  
"What about the others?"  
  
"Assuming they made it through the cave-in unscathed, they should continue down   
the path as planned. They should be able to make it out in another hour or so."  
  
"What about us? Isn't that the only way out?"  
  
"There are miles of passageways down here, Scully. You and Mulder came in a   
different way than we did. There are bound to be multiple exit routes.   
Hopefully, we'll find one of them soon, and get out of here only a few hours   
behind the others."  
  
"And if we don't find one of those exits?"  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. We can only try one trail at a time.   
Now, you ready?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Let's go find our way out of here." He waited for her to catch up, and then   
together they set off back down the path they had been following for the past   
hour.  
  
Though he was anxious to end this mission as soon as possible, the commander had   
to slow his pace, taking shorter strides to allow Scully to keep up with him. He   
tried not to go too quickly, realizing how utterly exhausted she must be by now.  
  
They walked together in silence for about twenty minutes, until they came to the   
fork he had mentioned. Luckily, the other path had not been blocked during the   
cave-in, and they were able to take the alternate route. Hopefully, it would   
lead to daylight--though, without Socks' tracker, Riskey had no way of knowing   
for sure until they got there. He guessed they would find out eventually.  
  
"So, what exactly was this item you and Socks were discussing before the cave-  
in?" Scully asked, finally breaking the self-imposed silence. "You said this was   
a retrieval op, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Our mission was to locate and recover this object."  
  
"What kind of object?"  
  
"You know I can't tell you that. It's classified."  
  
"C'mon, Commander. I almost died with you in this cave-in. You could at least   
let me know why. It's not as though your mission security hasn't already been   
compromised simply by my presence here."  
  
Riskey sighed. "It's a canister."  
  
Scully's brow furrowed. "What kind of canister? What does it contain? Socks   
seemed convinced that it was somehow responsible for causing the cave-ins. How   
is that possible?"  
  
"I don't know what's in it or how it's related to these cave-ins. All I know is   
that I had orders to retrieve it. Obviously it's something that the Federal   
government values highly. Anything more than that, I couldn't tell you even if I   
wanted to."  
  
"I suppose whatever's inside could be undergoing some kind of chemical reaction.   
Perhaps it contains the components of some sort of explosive device, set to   
detonate several mini-explosions over time." Scully paused a moment,   
considering. "Hmm, I wonder if this could be related at all to the case that   
Mulder and I are working on?"  
  
"And what case might that be? I've been wondering what sort of investigation   
could bring a couple of Feds to the depths of these caves."  
  
Scully managed a small laugh. "We were brought in by request, actually. As you   
may or may not know, this island and a nearby resort on Maui are owned by a   
multi-millionaire named Craig Robinson. His late son, Scott, was in love with a   
native girl named Kilikina Ainalani. It seems that both of their families   
disapproved of their relationship, which forced them to have to meet in secrecy.   
A couple nights ago, Scott and Kilikina apparently had a little midnight   
rendezvous in these caves. And it was here that they mysteriously died."  
  
"Were they killed? Or was it suicide?"  
  
"They may have been star-crossed lovers, but I really don't see how their deaths   
could have been self-inflicted. They were incinerated. All of the soft tissues   
were melted off of their bones, leaving their skeletons undamaged."  
  
"No shit?"  
  
"Yes. But it gets even weirder. Their backpacks, which were less than a yard   
from where the bodies were found, were also left untouched."  
  
"That *is* bizarre," Riskey said, shaking his head. "Now, you said this happened   
two nights ago?"  
  
"Yes. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because that corresponds to the time the canister first appeared on our   
sensors."  
  
The pieces were finally starting to fall into place for Scully. "So, let's just   
say for a moment that there's some sort of chemical reaction going on in this   
canister. If so, it's possible that it created some sort of explosion or   
discharge two nights ago that killed those kids. And when it happened, the   
activity spiked on your sensors, making the government aware of its existence."  
  
"Well, considering neither of us has any idea what the canister contains, this   
is pure speculation on our parts. But yeah, I'd say that's a good working   
theory. Especially given the fact that this canister seems to be the source of   
all the seismic activity going on here. It's not too far a leap to suggest that   
it could have also created a more concentrated, deadly blast."  
  
Scully began to shake. A moment later, she was laughing rather loudly.  
  
"What? What is it? Was it something I said?"  
  
"No, I-I'm not laughing at you. It- It's just . . . it's not very often that   
someone agrees with one of my theories."  
  
"Yeah, I kind of got the impression that you and Mulder do a lot of arguing."  
  
"Well, it's sort of the nature of our personalities to approach a problem from   
different sides. During most of our partnership, it's been a friendly kind of   
disagreement--a professional, intellectual sort of bickering. It's only recently   
that it's become less than amiable. We've been having some problems."  
  
"Every partnership goes through its share of rough spots. There have been times   
when some of the guys and I have barely been on speaking terms."  
  
"Well, Mulder and I have definitely had our share of ups and downs. But it's   
never been this bad. It's never gotten to the point where I couldn't stand to be   
in the same room with him for more than a few minutes."  
  
"Well, whatever you've been feeling has probably been accentuated ten-fold by   
the fact that the two of you were stranded alone together in these caves. That'd   
bring any kind of underlying tension to a head. Maybe this forced separation is   
actually for the best."  
  
She chuckled. "Well, we definitely needed some space, that's for sure."  
  
"So, you said you two were requested to investigate these murders? Now what sort   
of specialty do you two have that your expertise was required for this   
particular case?"  
  
"Mulder and I work on the X-Files. They're unsolved cases that involve   
unexplained phenomena. Things like the paranormal."  
  
"Paranormal? What do poltergeists have to do with mysterious deaths?"  
  
"Well, that particular area is more my partner's forte. Some of our cases have   
involved people he suspects of having psychic powers. Along with the occasional   
alien abductee. But the majority of the crimes we investigate just have unusual   
MOs or perpetrators who are . . . unconventional."  
  
"Eccentric, you mean?"  
  
"That's one way of putting it. We deal with your usual psychos, serial killers,   
and genetic mutants."  
  
He stared at her, nonplused. "Did you say mutants?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What sort of . . . mutants?"  
  
"The usual. The liver-eating, shape-shifting, pyrokinetic kind."  
  
"Oh. Of course. *Those* kinds."  
  
"I'm sorry, Commander. You're probably thinking I've got a few screws loose. But   
I assure you that during my time on the X-Files, I've had more than my share of   
strange happenings. I'm not one that's quick to be convinced; I'm a stickler for   
scientific proof. Much of what we deal with has to be seen to be believed. And I   
tell you, even though *I've* seen a lot of it with my own two eyes, *I* still   
sometimes have a hell of a time believing."  
  
"Actually, Agent Scully, you're one of the most level-headed people I've ever   
met. You would have made an excellent SEAL."  
  
She laughed. "I decided to leave the military careers to the men in my family."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"My father was a Navy Captain. My brothers Bill and Charlie are both in the   
service. Both officers, actually."  
  
"Really? Wonder if I know them. Are they based near DC?"  
  
"No. Dad passed away several years ago. Bill's in San Diego. Charlie's in   
Florida."  
  
"Oh, well. Guess that makes you the black sheep of the family."  
  
"Oh, no. That would have been my sister, Melissa. She left home at an early age.   
She was totally into that New Age thing. Crystals, auras, that sort of thing."  
  
"Did she finally grow out of it?"  
  
Scully did not reply. RB felt as though the temperature had just dropped ten   
degrees.  
  
"Agent Scully? Did I say something wrong?"  
  
Scully's tongue darted out to lick the corner of her lip. "Missy .. . she- she   
was killed a few years ago."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."  
  
"No, no, that's okay. I'm the one who brought her up. Sometimes it's hard, even   
after all these years, to believe that she's gone." She grew silent again.  
  
RB cleared his throat as he searched for a way to change the subject. "So, uhm,   
how did you go from studying medicine to joining the Bureau?"  
  
Scully blew out a loud breath.  
  
"You said something earlier about it being an act of rebellion. How did you put   
it? Ah, yes: 'To piss your parents off'."  
  
"Well, sort of, but not exactly. By the time I was finishing med school, the   
thought of practicing medicine just didn't excite me anymore. I had been   
considering an internship and residency in forensic pathology at that point. The   
idea of using science to gather clues, to put together pieces of a puzzle in   
order to solve crimes, seemed exciting and intellectually stimulating. I put in   
some inquiries as to the opportunities available at Quantico, and before I knew   
it, the Bureau was actively recruiting me. I was torn for a while. My parents   
definitely were pushing for me to go into private practice. But deep down, I   
knew that just wasn't the life I was looking for. I knew that my future lay with   
the FBI. And the rest, as they say, is history."  
  
"Do you regret your decision?"  
  
Scully was silent for a long time, mulling that one over. "I suppose there have   
been times when I questioned whether I had made the best choice. But the truth   
is, I love my work. My years with the Bureau--on the X-Files especially--have   
been some of the toughest, but also some of the most challenging, exciting,   
intellectually stimulating years of my life. At times, it's been a long, hard,   
even painful journey, but in answer to your question, no, I do not regret my   
decision. It's helped shape me into the person I am today. And for the most   
part, I'm happy with who I am and where I am professionally."  
  
She sighed. "The one thing I do regret was agreeing to come on this case. No   
offense, Commander, but right now I'd rather be anywhere else but in this damned   
cave!"  
  
"None taken," he said with a smile. "I know the feeling."  
  
Scully realized that she had been talking practically non-stop for most of their   
hike. It had been a long time since anyone had taken the time to ask about her   
thoughts, her life, herself--and listened so intently to boot. She had to admit,   
it felt rather nice. At the same time, she felt somewhat self-conscious at being   
the center of attention for so long. She decided to give the commander the same   
courtesy he had afforded her.  
  
"So, while we're on the topic of career decisions, what about you, Commander?   
How did you decide to become a Navy SEAL?"  
  
He gave a small laugh. "I don't know exactly. By the time I turned eighteen,   
entering the academy just seemed to be the right decision. And when I graduated,   
the SEALs likewise seemed like the right course to take. I admit it, I love the   
excitement of the job: the jumps, the climbs, the diving, the thrill of combat--  
especially if it's hand-to-hand. Working side-by-side with some of the most   
skilled, loyal, devoted soldiers out there, knowing that if I gave the order,   
they would follow me to the very depths of hell without even batting an eye. . .   
." He took a deep breath, evidently basking in his pride for his men. "There's   
not a better team of men out there. So suffice it to say that it's never a chore   
to get out of bed and come to work in the morning."  
  
"We should all be so lucky," Scully murmured. "So, you're one of those thrill-  
seekers?"  
  
He grinned. "Hell, yeah. I cannot describe to you the feeling of utter freedom   
when you jump out of a plane at thirty-six thousand feet and feel the wind in   
your face as you plummet toward the ground, hoping you packed your chute right   
and it'll open when you pull that rip cord."  
  
"Sounds more like utter panic to me."  
  
He chuckled. "Or rappelling down a nearly-vertical cliff-face in the pouring   
rain, where every hand- or foothold is that much more precarious because the   
water has made it extremely slick. Knowing that if your line were to give way,   
you'd go tumbling straight down into a deep, dark abyss."  
  
"Makes today's little stunt sound like a walk in the park."  
  
"Then there are the dives. God, I love the ocean. Whenever I go scuba diving,   
I'm in awe at the wonder of it all. The sea makes you feel so goddammed small.   
It seems to go on forever in all directions. If you were to lose your way, take   
a wrong turn, you could be swallowed by the darkness. And you have no idea what   
wonders--or what perils--lie waiting for you. At the same time, whenever I'm   
deep-sea diving, even though I'm wound up over the op and getting our mission   
done right, there's always a moment where I'm completely at peace. The ocean is   
so quiet, so peaceful, so serene. There's a therapeutic quality about it."  
  
This time it was Scully who smiled. Ever since she had been a small child, she   
had loved the sea. It probably had a large part to do with the fact that her   
father was a Navy captain. He loved the sea, and she loved him, and so his   
respect for the ocean had been passed onto her, that reverence so high that it   
had practically been transformed into worship. So it was not difficult for her   
to understand the commander's deep, personal feelings about the sea, for she   
shared them.  
  
He seemed to sense this kinship they had just discovered. In that moment,   
something changed between them. They went from being strangers to two people   
with something in common: two people with a similar interest, a similar   
devotion, that was so deeply ingrained that it was an integral part of their   
personalities.  
  
Scully suddenly felt more at ease than she had all day. Whereas before she had   
regarded the commander with guarded wariness, she now realized that she could   
trust him. Her reasoning was nothing more than a gut feeling, her intuition, but   
she knew that she was not wrong. He was an honorable man.  
  
"I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I'm probably boring you with all my ramblings about   
the sea. You've probably had more than your share of it growing up."  
  
"No, that's quite all right, Commander. As a matter of fact, it's been a long   
while since I've heard anyone speak of it so highly. Ahab and I both felt the   
connection, but somehow it was never quite there with Bill and Charlie. So it's   
nice to hear you talk about it that way. It brings back a lot of good memories."  
  
He looked at her questioningly. "Did you just say 'Ahab'?"  
  
"Oh." Scully felt her cheeks grow warm, hoped that in the dim light the   
commander would not notice. "I was speaking of my father. Ahab was my nickname   
for him. He called me Starbuck."  
  
"Melville fans, I see."  
  
"*Moby Dick* anyway."  
  
"Well, those are definitely original. Sure beats the hell out of RB."  
  
"Are-Bee?" Scully recalled his teammates referring to him by that nickname, but   
she had never bothered to inquire about its significance before.  
  
He grinned knowingly. "RB. For 'Riskey Business.' Because I'm always taking   
chances, always putting myself at risk. I can't help it, though. It's like a   
drug."  
  
"Better to be high on life than on any chemical substance." They laughed. "Well,   
I'd say the name definitely fits you. Now, what about Socks? Where did that name   
come from?"  
  
"It's short for Socrates."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Is he the philosopher of the group?"  
  
Riskey laughed. "I never thought about it that way, but to some degree I suppose   
that's true. Actually, that's his name. Socrates Xanthos."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Hmm. Maybe that's why he and Mulder are getting along so well. They must be   
commiserating about their given names."  
  
"That why you call each other by your last names? Because he can't stand his?"  
  
"Well, the first time I tried to call him Fox, he did ask me not to--in his own   
unique fashion. But I think it's more because of the law enforcement tradition.   
Same in the military, I'd think."  
  
Riskey nodded.  
  
"What about the other two--Robbins and Toller. No other monikers?"  
  
"Well, we've taken to calling Robbins Six Pack."  
  
"Let me guess: he can drink anybody under the table?"  
  
Riskey laughed. "Well, it's true he can hold his liquor well, but that's not the   
reason for the name."  
  
"Why then?"  
  
"On account of the fact that he's got the best set of abs this side of the   
Mississippi. His stomach's like a washboard. Drives the ladies crazy."  
  
"I see." Scully could not help but smile at the image. "And Toller?"  
  
He smirked. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, Toller is a bit . .. uptight. I   
don't think he'd take too kindly to us giving him a nickname."  
  
"Precisely the reason to give him one. Tease him a little, rub him the wrong   
way, get him to loosen up a bit."  
  
"Well, there *is* something the guys and I call him . . . strictly behind his   
back."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I suppose I could take you into confidence. Provided you promise not to reveal   
the information to anyone--most especially Toller."  
  
"You have my word," Scully vowed solemnly.  
  
Riskey's voice lowered until he was speaking in a hushed whisper. "Well, we've   
taken to calling him. . . ."  
  
Scully strained her ears to hear him.  
  
". . . Mad Cow."  
  
"Mad Cow?!" she repeated, her raised voice reverberating off of the cave walls.   
Realizing her indiscretion, she clasped her hand over her mouth, which helped to   
hide her giggles. "Mad Cow? Where the hell did that one come from?"  
  
"Well, Dennis is from the Midwest. Kansas, actually. His folks raise beef   
cattle. Most of the time, he's an easy-going, even-tempered kinda guy. It takes   
a lot to get him riled up. But when he does blow his fuse--whoo-ee! You'd better   
duck for cover. He's like hell on wheels. First time we saw him lose his cool,   
he tied Socks upside down to a tree. Took us over twenty minutes to cut all of   
the duct tape off of him. And so he was tagged Mad Cow."  
  
Scully laughed openly now. "Well, given the inside info, it makes much more   
sense now. Good choice."  
  
"Thanks. Wish I could take the credit, but it was actually Socks who. . . ."  
  
When he voice trailed off, Scully looked up at him in concern. Riskey had   
stopped walking and now stood slowly turning his head so that he could swing his   
flashlight beam all around them. She followed his gaze as he examined their   
surroundings.  
  
"Commander? What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"I should have realized when your voice echoed so loudly before."  
  
"Realized what? I don't understand."  
  
"I was so engrossed in our conversation, I didn't notice how the terrain was   
changing."  
  
"Changing?" Scully looked at the ground, the walls, the ceiling. The rock looked   
the same to her as it had the entire day.  
  
"It may be hard to notice at first, because it happened so gradually, and we   
weren't looking for it. But can't you tell how much narrower the tunnel has   
become? We can barely stand shoulder-to-shoulder without touching both walls."  
  
Now that he pointed out the change, it seemed perfectly obvious to her. But the   
question remained, what did it mean? "Is that good? Does that mean that we're   
near the entrance?"  
  
"I don't think that's what it means. And depending on how you look at things,   
it's not necessarily a good thing."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Well, how do you feel about heights, Agent Scully?"  
  
"I prefer to avoid them when I can. Why do you ask?"  
  
He laughed uneasily. "I don't think there's going to be any avoiding this one."  
  
"This one? Obviously you know something I don't, Commander. Would you please   
explain yourself?"  
  
"How about I just wait and show you? As the saying goes, a picture is worth a   
thousand words. C'mon, follow me. And be sure to watch your step."  
  
Before Scully had a chance to protest any further, he started off down the path.   
She had to sprint to catch up with him. As she followed him, she was very   
mindful of where her feet fell. Thus far, the trail seemed as solid as it had   
been during their entire journey.  
  
She did become acutely aware of how the corridor was becoming increasingly   
narrower. Before long, she could barely squeeze through, which meant that   
Riskey, whowas nearly twice as broad in the shoulders as she, was now walking   
sideways. He was gliding his hands along the wall as he moved, and Scully copied   
his motions. He had slowed his pace considerably, and was now taking small,   
deliberate steps.  
  
At one point, Scully thought she noticed a draft at her back, and absently hoped   
that meant they might be getting out of these godforsaken caves sometime soon.   
After a couple minutes, he brought them to a halt. He turned his head to face   
hers. Their noses were less than a foot apart, and she felt his warm breath on   
her forehead as he spoke.  
  
"How ya holdin' up back there, Scully?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"That's good. Now, this is gonna be a little tricky. Just follow my lead: put   
your hands where mine were, step where I step. Balance is the key. Take your   
time, don't rush it. And whatever you do, don't look down."  
  
Don't look down? Why shouldn't she look down? Precisely because he advised   
against it, Scully found her gaze wandering downwards. It was only then that she   
realized that the ground their feet rested on was no more than a foot in width.   
Beyond it, lay . . . nothing. The draft she had felt was due to the fact that   
there was no longer a wall behind them; the space was completely open.  
  
My God! They were standing on a narrow path on the edge of a ravine. There was   
precious little room to maneuver. If they were to slip, they would fall over the   
edge and down into the darkness that lay waiting below. How far down did it   
extend? A hundred feet? A hundred yards? A mile?  
  
Scully broke out into a cold sweat. A wave of vertigo suddenly washed over her.   
She felt herself faltering. Her foot slipped, her wet palms could not get a good   
grip. . . .  
  
"Whoa! Careful, Scully!" She felt Riskey's strong arm snake around her waist,   
pulling her against the rockface. "Easy does it. Don't worry, I have you."  
  
Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against the cool stone.  
  
"Deep breaths, Scully. Get the air into your lungs. Don't black out on me now."  
  
She did as he said, breathing deeply. After a couple of minutes, the dizziness   
had subsided. She opened her eyes, saw the concerned look on his face as he   
stared down at her.  
  
"You okay?" he asked.  
  
"Y-yeah. Better now."  
  
"Good. I'm gonna move my arm now, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
Slowly, carefully, he released his hold on her, moved his hand back next to him.  
  
For a moment, Scully thought she might panic again with the loss of the   
makeshift lifeline. But she closed her eyes again, took deep cleansing breaths,   
and soon had her fear back under control.  
  
"Next time I say don't look down, don't look down. Okay?" Though his words were   
every bit serious, there was an underlying kindness to them, an almost teasing   
tone to the statement.  
  
Scully could not help but smile. "Okay." She licked her suddenly dry lips. "So,   
now what?"  
  
"So now we cross this gully."  
  
"Easier said than done, Commander. You're the risk-taking thrill-seeker. Me, I   
prefer to keep my feet on level ground."  
  
"Well, I'm afraid I won't be able to carry you across this ravine, Scully.   
You're going to have to do it under your own power."  
  
"Really, Commander, there's no need to respect my independence. I may be a   
liberated woman of the nineties, but every now and again I appreciate some   
chivalry," she joked uneasily.  
  
She felt his hand come up to cover her own. She raised her eyes, and saw him   
looking at her determinately. "You can do this, Scully. I know you can. Earlier   
today, I watched you save Robbins' life. You had no fear. You were completely   
confident. Just as you will be now. We'll take it slow, one step at a time. You   
let me know when you're ready, and we'll just walk across. Okay?"  
  
She felt his eyes on her, looking at her--through her, it seemed--right into her   
soul. It were as though his confidence, his courage, were flowing from him and   
into her. He thought she could do this--hell, he was expecting it. And for some   
reason she could not fully explain, she did not want to disappoint him. She   
could--she *would*--do this.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Scully gave her head a slight nod. "All right. I'm ready."  
  
He smiled down at her. "Okay. Here we go."  
  
She felt his hand leave hers as he took a single step to the side. He watched   
her as she took her first hesitant step, her foot moving to where his had been,   
her hand taking his former hold.  
  
"That's it. You're doing great, Scully."  
  
He took another step to the right, and she followed. With his words of   
encouragement, they slowly made their way across the gorge. Scully's back was   
soon slicked with perspiration as she focused every iota of her concentration on   
the task at hand. A trickle of sweat slid down her temple, made its way into her   
eye. She stopped to blink, trying to clear her vision.  
  
"You okay?" he called to her.  
  
"Yeah. I don't suppose we're there yet?" she asked with a grin.  
  
"Looks like we're about two-thirds of the way there. You want to stop and rest a   
minute?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. Let's just get across."  
  
He took another step. His boot slipped on some loose gravel, and a number of   
pebbles skittered over the edge of the ravine. He staggered for only a moment,   
but quickly regained his balance.  
  
Scully watched the entire incident helplessly. "You okay?"  
  
"Y-yeah," he panted, hugging the rockface. "That one was a bit too close--even   
for me. Watch your step there."  
  
Slowly, they continued on their journey, step after painstaking step. After a   
few minutes, RB brought their advancement to a halt.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Shh!" he snapped. He seemed to be listening intently.  
  
Scully waited silently, though she heard nothing save the sound of her own heavy   
breathing.  
  
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.  
  
"Hear what?"  
  
"Listen, there it is again."  
  
They both stood perfectly still, straining their ears to hear. It was then that   
Scully heard it. A low rumbling, as though it were coming from a distance away,   
like a far off storm. It seemed familiar somehow. A chill went up her spine, and   
she shivered involuntarily.  
  
"Commander. . . ?"  
  
At that moment, a pebble fell down the rockface to land at their feet. It was   
soon followed by a second, then a third. It felt to Scully as though the ground   
were beginning to vibrate, even as the rumbling grew louder. No, it could not   
be. Not now, not here. She looked up at RB, saw the same realization reflected   
in his own troubled eyes.  
  
"Oh . . . fuck!" she muttered.  
  
"Scully, we've got to move. Quicken the pace. It'll be risky, but it beats   
getting stuck out here to wait out another cave-in."  
  
"That's why they call you RB, right? Let's move out, Commander."  
  
Without another word, Riskey started to move across the narrow pathway, with   
Scully only a few paces behind him. They had made it only another couple yards   
when a particularly large rock came crashing down between them.  
  
Crying out in surprise, Scully jerked her head back instinctively. She lost her   
footing, and she started to fall.  
  
"Gotcha!" RB shouted, grasping her wrist and righting her before she had gotten   
too far out of reach. She did not have time to even catch her breath before he   
was urging them on again.  
  
The ground was shaking significantly now, and more and more stones were raining   
down toward them. The occasional one struck them on the arm or leg. Scully   
prayed none of them would hit them on the head. She knew it was just a matter of   
time before one of them lost their balance and plunged toward the waiting   
darkness below.  
  
Riskey took another step, and then suddenly the ground completely crumbled   
beneath his feet. The fault line must have extended several feet in both   
directions, because they both lost their footing. Scully tried to grab onto the   
wall for support, but the handholds were too shallow, and her fingers   
immediately started slipping. Before she even realized what was happening, she   
felt herself falling.  
  
  
End Chapter 11  
  
  
***** 


	12. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 12/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 12  
  
  
Feeling the ground fall out from beneath her feet, Scully reached out, clawing   
madly at the wall to slow her descent. It was having no effect, and she felt   
herself slipping ever downward. This time, however, there was no strong, steady   
arm reaching out to catch her and safely deposit her on solid ground. There was   
no longer any solid ground to speak of. And beside her, Riskey, too, was falling   
and fighting for purchase.  
  
Scully cried out in terror, certain that these were going to be the last moments   
of her life. Blindly, she reached out in one last desperate attempt to stop her   
fall.  
  
This time, she was able to find a handhold. When she realized that she was no   
longer falling, she tightened her grip, and held on for dear life as the   
rumbling continued to rage full-force.  
  
It was many long minutes until the quaking stopped, and the roaring finally   
quelled. By now, there was only the occasional pebble or shower of gravel   
falling down beside her.  
  
Coughing and sputtering, Scully looked around her. She was suspended in midair,   
definitely swinging free with nothing below her feet but darkness, but at least   
she was not heading downward toward certain death. It was only then that she   
realized it was not rock that she held. Scully found herself hanging on to   
Riskey's boot. As she continued her glimpse upwards, she realized that he was   
facing the wall, just as she was. It looked as though he was holding onto a   
ledge below the one they had been walking along a few moments earlier.  
  
"Ho, Commander!" she called up to him.  
  
"Ho, Scully. How's it shaking?"  
  
If she were not so goddammed terrified at that moment, she might have laughed.   
Unfortunately, right now, she did not find any aspect of their predicament   
amusing.  
  
"Hanging in there," she replied.  
  
He groaned.  
  
"What? Are you okay?"  
  
"Oh no, sorry. I just realized that we both need to work on our sense of humor."  
  
"Tell me about it. How's your grip?"  
  
"Pretty solid."  
  
"Well, feel free to pull us up whenever you're ready."  
  
She felt a tremor run through him, realized after a moment that it was a   
chuckle. "I, uh, don't think that's going to be happening anytime soon, Scully.   
I'm okay with supporting your weight like this, but this rock is slippery. If I   
try to pull us up, I don't think I'll be able to find solid handholds. My   
fingers will slip. And the rock itself might crumble more with the added   
stress."  
  
Scully felt her heart sink. "Then what do you propose we do, just dangle here?"  
  
"Don't give up just yet. I think I've got an idea. It's a little crazy, but I   
think it just might work."  
  
"Well, right now, I don't think I can afford to be picky. What is it?"  
  
"You remember that launcher Socks used earlier when I rappelled down to get   
Robbins?"  
  
"The one that shot the hook into the wall and had a rope attached?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it. Well, I should have a similar mini-one in one of my pockets.   
It's got a smaller diameter rope attached, but it should do the trick."  
  
"So we just fire it at the wall, and then you pull us up?"  
  
"Not quite. We don't have a good shot of solid rock from here."  
  
"Then how is it going to help us?"  
  
"Well, it won't help *you* per se. . . ."  
  
"You're not planning on kicking me off into the abyss are you?"  
  
"Hardly. We're going to have to work together to pull this off. I need you to   
reach the gun, climb up me to the ledge, and fire it into the wall so that I can   
use the rope to pull myself up."  
  
"Oh, is that all? Would you like me to carry you up while I'm at it?"  
  
"Have you got a better idea?"  
  
He was greeted by silence.  
  
"That's what I thought. The gun should be in my right thigh pocket."  
  
*Great!* Scully was holding onto his left boot.  
  
"Use the top of my boot and the various pockets and pouches for handholds. Just   
take it slow, Scully, and you should be fine."  
  
"Says the soldier who could probably bench press two times my body weight. I've   
got news for you, Riskey--not everyone has the upper body strength of a Navy   
SEAL."  
  
"Hey, I saw your arms. Don't tell me you don't work out. Hell, you could   
probably take Mulder in an arm wrestling match."  
  
"That'd be the day."  
  
"Go on, Scully. Right thigh pocket."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Scully began to hoist herself up. She reached first for   
the top of his boot, then pulled herself up the side of his body, hand-over-  
hand, like a rock climber. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she   
carefully grabbed fist-fulls of fabric for purchase. When she reached for his   
back pocket, Riskey twitched almost imperceptibly.  
  
"Getting me back for earlier, eh?" he asked her.  
  
Scully was too busy concentrating to reply. Finally, she managed to grab onto   
his belt and slide her hands along it to the right, inch by inch, until she came   
to the center of his back. She hoped that by better balancing herself, she would   
not put any extra stress on his left arm.  
  
"If you pull my pants down, there will be hell to pay later."  
  
"Why? You forget to put on clean underwear this morning?"  
  
"Can you reach my right pocket?"  
  
"I think so." Tightening her grip on his belt with her left hand, Scully slowly   
snaked her right hand across his backside, onto his right hip and down the side   
of his thigh.  
  
"The zipper's in the front," he informed her.  
  
"Now you tell me." Nestling in closer to his bottom, she reached for the front   
of his thigh.  
  
And grossly miscalculated her aim. Rather than grasp his thigh, her hand had   
strayed too far toward his midline. She realized in alarm that she was groping   
his groin.  
  
She heard his sharp intake of breath. She had caught him off-guard with this   
maneuver. So, it *was* possible to surprise the unflappable Commander Riskey.  
  
"Uh, sorry about that," she muttered, flushing hotly as she moved her hand back   
onto the side of his thigh.  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said, his voice sounding unusually guttural, "but   
isn't anatomy one of the fundamental classes taught in medical school?"  
  
Scully cleared her throat. "I cannot see where I'm reaching, Commander. Your ass   
is in my way."  
  
"Oh, so that was my ass's fault?"  
  
"Or perhaps I meant to misaim." *Lord, Dana, now is _not_ the time nor the place   
for this. Talk about flirting with disaster. . . .*  
  
For his part, the commander seemed fully in control of himself. "Can you reach   
the pocket, Scully?"  
  
From where she held onto the side of his leg, Scully wrapped her fingers around   
the front edge of his thigh and then slid her hand forward around to the front   
of his leg. It took another moment or two to locate the cargo flap, lift it, and   
open the zipper it covered. "Got it!"  
  
"Good. Now, careful with the launcher."  
  
"Is there a safety?"  
  
"Yep. It works just like an automatic."  
  
Scully grabbed the mini-launcher, which was shaped similarly to a flare gun,   
being sure not to disturb the safety. Removing it from his pocket, she moved her   
arm to the small of her back, and tucked it into her pants beside her own   
weapon. "Okay. Got it secured."  
  
"Now you just have to climb the rest of the way up to the ledge."  
  
"I'm so glad you don't expect a lot out of your soldiers."  
  
"I'll have you know, this is like a walk in the park compared to the hell I put   
my men through."  
  
"Oh, so you're going easy on me, is that it?"  
  
"Well, considering I'm gonna need your help to get outta this, I don't wanna   
piss you off."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, Scully, but my fingers are starting to   
cramp."  
  
"Oh. Sorry. Well, here goes nothin'."  
  
Scully began to once again pull herself up the length of the commander's body.   
She grasped a fistful of sweat-soaked undershirt to lift herself up past his   
waist. Grunting as she reached for his shoulders, she silently appreciated the   
hard, well-sculpted muscles of his back, shoulders, and upper arms.  
  
When she had both hands planted on his shoulders, she wrapped her legs around   
his hips to take some of the weight off of her arms and give them a rest for a   
moment.  
  
"Uhm, Commander . . . now what?"  
  
"Try to get some leverage so you can get your knees onto my shoulder. Grab onto   
my arms, or even my head if you have to."  
  
"I'll try." Holding tightly to his shoulders, she attempted to lift her legs up.   
On her first try, she ended up kicking him in the ribs.  
  
The unintentional blow sent the air rushing out of his lungs, and for a moment   
Scully thought he was going to lose his grip. But he quickly recovered himself.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that," she apologized, already giving it another go. This time it   
worked, and she was soon pulling her knees up onto his shoulders. Now came the   
tricky part: she had to find a way to balance herself as she tried to reach up   
between his hands and hoist herself onto the ledge.  
  
She did as he suggested, and held onto his head for balance as she slowly,   
shakily raised her torso. She then slowly slid her hands onto the wall, guided   
them methodically up the rockface, all the while straightening her back.   
Finally, she felt her fingers reach the top, and extend over the edge of the   
ledge. She slipped them back even further, trying to find a good handhold. It   
took her several long moments of groping, but eventually she found what she   
hoped would be a solid grip. Luckily, this ledge was at least twice as wide as   
the one they had been navigating before their fall.  
  
She began to lift herself, and soon her upper arms had cleared the ledge.   
Leaning heavily on her arms, she was able to pull her upper body against the   
ledge. A moment later, she had her chest over the edge. A few wiggles later, and   
she was drawing her legs up behind her.  
  
Scully lay on the cool ground, panting heavily. She did it! Somehow, she had   
managed to climb up and onto the ledge!  
  
She allowed herself only a moment's reprieve before proceeding to the next part   
of the plan. "Any special place I should shoot this thing?" she called down to   
Riskey.  
  
"Look for . . . someplace . . . solid." She could tell from his strained voice   
that his strength was fading fast.  
  
"Hold on, Commander." Sitting up, Scully gazed upwards, searching for the   
appropriate substrate. Several yards above her was a small outcropping of rock   
jutting out from the wall. It looked solid enough. *Only one way to find out.*  
  
Drawing the mini-launcher, she released the safety, raised it with both hands,   
and took aim. Offering a silent prayer, she pulled the trigger. The recoil   
tossed her backwards, and she quickly redirected her weight sideways to avoid   
the edge of the ledge.  
  
With a small *whoosh!* the hook shot out of the muzzle and flew straight up and   
into the rock. It embedded itself, a rope now trailing down behind it. Scully   
tucked the gun back into her jeans before testing the rope. She gave it first a   
gentle tug, then a much firmer one. So far, so good. Then she pulled it with all   
her strength, and found that it could support her entire weight. Whether it   
could hold twice that remained to be seen.  
  
"Look out below!" she called to Riskey, dropping the rope toward him. "What else   
can I do?"  
  
"Cross your fingers." Gritting his teeth, RB reached for the rope with his left   
hand. Grasping it, he quickly wound it around his hand, wrist, and arm. A moment   
later, when he released his hold on the ledge with his right hand, that was all   
that kept him from falling down the ravine.  
  
Scully held her breath as he slipped down half a foot before the loops of rope   
stopped his descent. She saw him grimace then, probably from the jolt as well as   
the burn of the rope into the flesh of his arm. Luckily, the rope seemed to be   
holding his weight.  
  
He swayed back and forth a couple times before swinging his feet forward and   
onto the rock face. With a grunt, he reached his right arm up to grasp the rope.   
He managed to extricate his left hand and arm and bring it up above the other   
one. How he had the strength to even move after supporting both his weight and   
hers for so long Scully could not fathom.  
  
He continued the movements, all the while walking up the side of the wall. After   
several more pulls, his hands, and then his head were above the level of the   
ledge.  
  
Scully reached to help him, but he shouted for her to stand back. Grunting, he   
pulled his body ever-upwards. Soon, his feet reached the top of the ledge. Only   
then did Scully grab onto the rope and help pull him towards the wall. Letting   
go, he fell to his knees, breathing heavily.  
  
"You did it!" Scully cried, throwing her arms around his neck.  
  
Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. They started   
laughing in relief and exhaustion.  
  
Finally, he pulled back from her, leaning his back against the wall. "Don't tell   
me you were worried?" he asked nonchalantly as he pulled out his canteen.  
  
She sat back next to him. "Me? I was absolutely terrified! First, that I would   
slip, then that you would. I didn't think we were going to make it onto this   
ledge."  
  
He took several large swallows and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth   
before offering her the canteen. "You did great, Scully. You missed your calling   
as a SEAL."  
  
She grinned as she took the canteen from him. "I think I'll stick to my day job,   
thank you very much." Now that things had calmed down a bit, she looked around   
her, particularly toward the left in the direction they had initially been   
headed. "Well, I'll be damned!"  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"It looks like this ledge connects to a greater path. One that's much wider than   
the previous one."  
  
He followed her gaze to the left. "Hot damn! I think you're right. From the   
looks of it, this should take us back to the main trail."  
  
"And hopefully an exit."  
  
"We'll soon find out. Just let me catch my breath, and we can get moving again."  
  
  
End Chapter 12  
  
  
***** 


	13. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 13/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 13  
  
  
Once they resumed their hike, Scully and Riskey found that the ledge connected   
with solid ground. Before long, the path widened and they were once again able   
to walk side-by-side. Both were utterly exhausted by their latest venture, but   
were nonetheless hopeful that the exit was nearby. They decided to continue   
walking for another hour, and if they had not made significant progress, they   
would then stop to rest. For the most part, they journeyed in silence; neither   
had enough energy to engage in a meaningful conversation, let along small talk   
to just pass the time.  
  
"I don't know what I want more right now," Scully remarked after about forty   
minutes, "to get out of here, or to seem hopelessly lost so that I can curl up   
and take a nap."  
  
"The only danger with stopping is that we may never want to get back up again.   
Especially once the aches and pains start to set in."  
  
"What do you mean 'start to'? What I wouldn't give for a nice, long, hot soak in   
a tub."  
  
"Forget the tub. I could sure go for a big meal. A nice, juicy steak and a cold   
beer."  
  
"A nice, soft bed."  
  
"With satin sheets."  
  
She raised an eyebrow in his direction.  
  
"Hey, once you've experienced satin sheets, there's no going back."  
  
They laughed.  
  
"Do you think the others got out okay?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, I do. Socks is a good leader, a competent soldier. I'm sure he got them   
out hours ago. By now, Robbins has probably been choppered to a hospital. How   
bad do you think he leg looked? Honestly."  
  
Scully sighed. "It's hard to say. Because of the high-energy nature of the   
trauma, the massive soft tissue damage, and the arterial injury, I'd classify it   
as the most severe kind of open fracture. In general, any kind of open fracture   
is a nasty sort of break. As I said earlier, because of the nature of the wound,   
it's automatically considered contaminated. Given the conditions of the injury   
and the less-than-aseptic techniques we were forced to work in, plus the time   
delay until he gets to a hospital--he has a significant chance of getting an   
infection. If it gets into the bone, and he develops osteomyelitis, it gets a   
little tricky to treat."  
  
"Could he lose his leg?"  
  
"I won't lie to you, Commander. Even without infection, if the blood supply gets   
cut off, or if there's severe nerve damage, there's a chance he could lose it. I   
stabilized it the best I could given the circumstances. Hopefully, they'll bring   
in good orthopedic and vascular surgeons. Then only time will tell."  
  
"Dammit!" Riskey cursed, shaking his head. "He's still a kid. I shouldn't have   
left him to cross the ravine after everyone else. I should have been the one to   
go last."  
  
"It's not your fault."  
  
"I'm team leader. All that goes on during an op is my responsibility. Whatever   
happens to Robbins is on my head."  
  
"Commander, it's not your fault," Scully repeated, gently touching his arm.   
"What happened to Robbins was an unfortunate accident. Completely beyond your   
control. If not for your quick thinking and that crazy stunt you pulled, he   
might not be alive at all. Whatever happens now is out of your hands. So please   
stop beating yourself up about it. Hell, if anyone's to blame, it's Mulder and   
me. If we hadn't slowed you down, all four of you would have been across the   
ravine before the rope snapped."  
  
"Now that's ridiculous. You had nothing to do with it."  
  
"No more ridiculous than you blaming yourself. Which just goes to prove that   
it's nobody's fault."  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Don't guess. Know." She squeezed his arm and offered him a warm smile.  
  
He returned it before they continued on.  
  
"Hey, Commander, is it me, or have we been heading downhill?"  
  
"It's definitely not you, Scully. The path has been sloping steadily downward   
for the past half hour or so." He looked down at the ground. "It also seems to   
be getting progressively wetter."  
  
"And more humid," she added, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. "Why do   
I get the feeling that this is not a good thing?"  
  
Scully's words proved portentous. After ten minutes, they were splashing through   
scattered puddles. After twenty, they were wading through ankle-high water. By   
the time it reached their knees, Scully was growing increasingly apprehensive.  
  
"Do you think we should turn back?"  
  
"And go where? There have been no turnoffs, no alternative paths. I don't see   
what choice we have but to go on."  
  
"All right." Resignedly, Scully and Riskey pushed on.  
  
When the water reached her waist, Scully was duly agitated. "I suppose that nap   
is out of the question now."  
  
"Not unless you want to float on your back for a while."  
  
"So do we just press on until we have to start swimming?"  
  
"I'm open to suggestions."  
  
Scully remained silent for a long time. She looked around. "Shine the light over   
there," she said, pointing to an area in the wall.  
  
Riskey detached the LED light from his belt and directed it toward the spot she   
indicated.  
  
"Does that look like an opening in the wall?"  
  
"Could be."  
  
"I want to take a closer look."  
  
"Be careful, Scully."  
  
She slowly made her way across the passageway until she reached the wall. She   
peered her head through the hole, which was at shoulder height, almost two feet   
above the water level. "Hey, I think there's a room down there. And it looks   
pretty dry."  
  
"Let me see." He waded over to where she stood and shone the beam down into the   
hole. "Yeah, it looks like a chamber of some sort."  
  
"Think it warrants us checking it out?"  
  
"Well, there's a chance there could be another opening on the other side,   
possibly one that has a path that leads out of here."  
  
"Sounds good to me. So, any ideas on how we get down there? It looks to be a   
good twenty, thirty feet."  
  
"You still have that mini-launcher?" Riskey asked as he clipped the light back   
onto his belt before rummaging through his pockets.  
  
"Yeah. A little wet, but none too the worse for wear. Here you go," she said,   
handing it to him.  
  
"Well, I've got one last cartridge. This one's got wire rather than rope   
attached, but it should do. The question is where to attach the hook."  
  
"How about up there?" Scully suggested, pointing to the roof of the gap in the   
wall.  
  
Riskey tested the rock with his hand. "Seems pretty solid. Okay, stand back."  
  
Scully got out of the way, and he took aim and fired. The metal hook shot out   
and embedded in the rock. He unwound the thick wire and tugged on it to test its   
weight.  
  
"Looks like it should hold just fine." He started rummaging through his pockets   
again, and soon found what he was searching for. "I've only got the one harness.   
You up to going one at a time, or would you rather climb down together?"  
  
Scully considered. Rappelling was definitely not her forte. And the thought of   
holding tight to the commander's body as he slowly lowered them to the ground   
sent a thrill of pleasure rushing through her. But then the rational part of her   
mind quickly asserted itself. He had been through a lot of exertion-filled   
exercises today--most of which had relied on sheer physical strength. No, it   
would be far better not to tax his muscles any further by making him carry her   
down.  
  
"I think I can handle it solo," she told him.  
  
"You sure? It's no big deal for us to go together."  
  
"No, really, I'll be fine. As a matter of fact, why don't I go first? That way   
you can show me the correct way to put on the harness."  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
He unbuckled the harness and then helped her get into it--which was a bit of a   
feat in and of itself since her bottom half was submerged in water. Soon, he had   
it fastened around her, and he made sure that it was secure. He hooked the   
harness onto the wire with metal biners. Then he attached a metal object to the   
wire before handing it to her.  
  
"What's this?" she asked.  
  
"Well, a wire's a bit different from a rope. If you try to hold onto it to slow   
your fall, it'll cut into your hands. If you squeeze this belay device here," he   
said, demonstrating, "it increases the friction, and it'll stop you where you   
are. Let up a little, and you'll descend slowly. Let up entirely, and you'll   
slide quickly toward the ground."  
  
"So, it's like a brake?"  
  
"Exactly. I suggest starting out with it completely squeezed and then gradually   
letting up on the pressure. You can go down by little hops. Here, give it a   
try."  
  
Scully tested out the belay device. "Seems simple enough."  
  
"You sure you're okay doing this? It's not too late to change your mind."  
  
"I'll be fine, Commander. Here, help me through the hole."  
  
He had to admit, she had a lot of spunk. Most of the women he knew would have   
been a hysterical mess since their attempt to navigate the ravine on that narrow   
ledge. If any of them had managed to grab onto his leg during the fall, they   
sure as hell would not have been able to hold on for long--let along manage to   
pull themselves up his body to reach the ledge. And certainly none of them would   
willingly rappel down this small wall alone. No, Dana Scully was definitely not   
your ordinary woman. The more he learned about her, the more he liked--and the   
more he wanted to know.  
  
He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up onto the edge of the aperture in   
the wall. Holding onto his shoulder for support, she carefully stood up on the   
other side of the wall until only her feet were on the narrow ridge. Grasping   
the belay device tightly, she slowly leaned backwards until the wire went   
taught.  
  
"That's it," he said, watching her movements carefully. "Now let up a bit, get   
some slack, and cast off."  
  
Closing her eyes, Scully nodded her head. She took a deep breath, cleared her   
mind. Opening them, she looked at the brake. She released the pressure a tad,   
watched the belay device slide down about a foot, felt her body fall back a bit   
more.  
  
*C'mon, Dana, you can do this. No big deal. Just jump. One little leap. That's   
all.*  
  
"Scully?" Riskey called to her. "You okay?" It looked like she had frozen. "You   
want me to come up there and get you down?"  
  
She shook her head. "Just mentally preparing myself." She took another deep   
breath. *Just do it, Dana. Don't think about it. Just do it.*  
  
"Bonsai!" Scully shouted as she stepped off the edge.  
  
Her body fell down, but as she held tight to the belay, she stopped descending   
after only a foot or so. She used her feet to grab hold of the cave wall.  
  
"Good job!" Riskey called down to her. "Now just let up again on the brake, and   
repeat the jump."  
  
Scully did as he said, except this time she released a tad of pressure on the   
belay at the same moment she cast off with her feet. She slid down the wall   
another couple of feet.  
  
"That's it! Damn, Scully, you're a natural!"  
  
Scully smiled at his words of praise. This actually was not too difficult. The   
hardest part seemed to be coordinating operating the brake and the movement of   
her legs. She had a couple false starts, a few jerky movements, but before long   
she was coasting down the wall with little effort. By the time she had gotten   
the hang of it, she felt her feet strike ground. She was actually somewhat   
disappointed that she had reached bottom already.  
  
"Made it!" she called up to him, waving.  
  
"Woo hoo! You go, girl! A few weeks from now, you're gonna be rappelling down   
mountains!"  
  
She beamed up at him. "We'll see. Now what?"  
  
"Take off the harness and then hook it onto the wire. I'll pull it up and be   
down to join you shortly."  
  
"Okay!" Scully quickly extricated herself from the harness and secured it to the   
wire. She made sure the belay device was also attached before tugging on the   
wire. "All yours!"  
  
"Thanks!" Riskey quickly pulled the wire back up the wall. He donned the   
harness, fastened it to the wire, and began to rappel down the wall. His   
movements were graceful and fluid, each of his leaps spanning nearly an entire   
body-length. Less than two minutes after she had tugged on the wire, he was   
standing on the ground beside her.  
  
"What'd I tell ya, Scully? Easy as pie." He began to take off the harness.  
  
"For you, maybe. You look like you could do that in your sleep. For me, that   
required a hell of a lot of concentration."  
  
"You were great, Scully. I've seen SEALs who wiped out multiple times when they   
first tried to rappel. You sure you haven't done this before?"  
  
"Nope. This was my first time."  
  
He gave her a suggestive look. "A rappelling virgin, eh? Wait'll the guys hear   
about this."  
  
"Yeah, I'd love to see the look on Mulder's face when you do." With a wink and a   
grin, she turned around to get a better look at the chamber they now occupied.  
  
"Hmm, this doesn't look quite as promising as I had hoped," Riskey said as he   
slowly panned the halogen beam along the walls.  
  
"Why don't we get a closer look at the walls, see if there are any other   
openings or tunnels?"  
  
Ten minutes later, they had completed their circuit of the circular chamber.   
Unfortunately, all of the walls appeared solid. Other than the way they had come   
in, there appeared to be no other way out.  
  
"Dammit!" Scully cursed. "I really thought we had found a way out."  
  
"I know, I know. Me, too."  
  
"Now what are we going to do?"  
  
Riskey directed his light up the wire, back toward the opening. "Climb back up,   
I guess, and press on."  
  
Scully groaned loudly. "I don't think I have the energy to walk another step,   
let along pull myself up that wall."  
  
Riskey sighed. "That makes two of us."  
  
"This day keeps getting worse and worse."  
  
"Look on the bright side, Scully."  
  
"What bright side?"  
  
"At least the ground is dry. In fact, it's looking pretty comfy to me."  
  
She gave him a sly look. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Nap time!" they both sang in unison.  
  
"Here, this looks like a good spot," he said, indicating a concave depression in   
the wall behind them.  
  
"The way I feel right now, I think I bed of nails would look inviting." She   
walked over to where he stood and promptly plopped down on the ground.  
  
He soon joined her.  
  
Scully leaned back against the cool rock surface. "Not quite satin, but it'll   
do."  
  
He chuckled as he too leaned back.  
  
From beside him, Scully shivered. "It's a lot cooler in this part of the cave.   
Must be because we've been going more underground."  
  
"That, and the fact that we're both soaked from the waist down."  
  
"Good point. Well, we could. . . ." She let her voice trail off.  
  
"We could what?"  
  
"Nothing. Never mind."  
  
"No, go ahead," he prompted her. "What were you going to say?"  
  
Scully hesitated. *Get over it, Dana. You're both adults. These are extenuating   
circumstances. You need to do whatever you have to to survive.*  
  
She licked her suddenly dry lips. "I was going to suggest that we huddle   
together. For body warmth."  
  
"Well, if you don't mind the stink of a sweaty, dirty SEAL. . . ."  
  
"I'll see your sweat and dirt, and raise you dried bat guano."  
  
"Is *that* what that white stuff is all over your pants? I've been wondering   
about that all day!"  
  
"Surprisingly, it seems to lose its odor as it dries. Which is a damned good   
thing considering how much the fresh stuff reeked."  
  
Laughing, he held out his arm.  
  
With a smile, she hunkered down against his chest, wrapping her arm across his   
rib cage. He wrapped his arm across her back, pulling her close.  
  
"Better?" he asked her softly.  
  
"Mmm," she murmured, eyes already drifting closed.  
  
*Just like satin,* he thought as he rested his cheek on top of her head.  
  
In less than a minute, they were both fast asleep.  
  
  
End Chapter 13  
  
  
***** 


	14. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ch...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 14/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 14  
  
  
Scully was dreaming that she was relaxing in a warm bubble bath. She was aware   
that it was just a dream, but she did not care. Right now, all that mattered was   
the sensation of being suffused in luxurious warmth, the delicious tickle of the   
bubbles that covered her skin. Ah, it was sheer and utter heaven.  
  
"Scully." The sound of her name was a breathy whisper in her ear.  
  
She smiled, turning her head toward the sensual voice.  
  
"Scully," the voice repeated, this time more urgently.  
  
"Not now," she protested. "I'm taking a bath. . . ."  
  
"Damn straight! And you're about to drown in it if you don't wake up!" She was   
suddenly shaken violently. "Goddammit, Scully, wake up!"  
  
Scully's eyes shot open. She was no longer soaking in a hot bath. She was   
definitely wet--though fully clothed--but the water was far from warm. She   
looked up into the troubled face of Commander Riskey.  
  
He let out a breathy sigh. "Christ, Scully, you scared the shit out of me. I was   
afraid you had passed out, or fallen unconscious."  
  
"No, I was just having a good dream. What's going on?" She moved her arms out to   
try to sit up, and felt them splash into cold liquid. She looked around, saw she   
was laying in several inches of water. "Shit! What happened?" she asked as she   
struggled to get to her feet.  
  
"I'm not sure," Riskey replied as he helped her up. "I woke up a minute or so   
before you, and saw that the room was flooding."  
  
Scully looked around frantically. "But where is the water coming from?"  
  
"Near as I can tell--up there," he said, pointing to the gap in the wall where   
they had entered the chamber.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Jesus, Scully, my sailor's mouth is rubbing off on you," Riskey teased.   
"Actually, this is a situation we SEALs would lovingly refer to as a goat fuck."  
  
"How can you joke around at a time like this?"  
  
"Well, panicking won't do either of us any good."  
  
"Speak for yourself."  
  
"See, you're making cracks too."  
  
"We've got to do something!"  
  
"We can try to climb back out. Although if that's where the water is coming   
from, odds are the level's already up to at least that of the hole."  
  
"Which means the whole tunnel's flooded."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"Well, it's better than just waiting here like sitting ducks."  
  
"Drowning ducks," he corrected.  
  
She rolled her eyes. Why was she always stuck with comedians? "C'mon, let's get   
out of here." She walked over to the wire and began to don the harness.  
  
"Let me check the wire first." He gave it a firm tug.  
  
Abruptly, it came loose, along with a big chunk of rock.  
  
"Look out!" he shouted, shoving her aside just as the stone came crashing to the   
ground, shattering into pieces and spraying water everywhere.  
  
Scully stared down wide-eyed at the fallen hook. "Oh God. You, uhm, you don't   
have another hook, do you?"  
  
"No, that was the last one."  
  
Her face had gone ashen. She slowly shook her head in disbelief. "Oh God!"  
  
"Scully. . . ."  
  
"Oh God! This is not happening," she muttered, raking her fingers through her   
hair. "This is not happening!"  
  
"Scully, calm down."  
  
"Calm down? Calm down! How do you expect me to fucking calm down?! That was your   
last fucking hook! Our only way out! This fucking room is going to fucking flood   
and we're going to fucking drown like a couple of fucking rats on a sinking   
ship!"  
  
Christ, she was panicking. His first instinct was to slap her, but he did not   
think that one would go over well. So he opted for the next best thing.  
  
In two paces, he had closed the short distance between them. He grabbed her by   
the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. "Scully, listen to me. We are *not*   
going to drown. We are going to find a way out of here. We are *not* going to   
die. I swear to you that I will not let you die."  
  
She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "H-How can you promise   
that?"  
  
He graced her with a bright smile. "'Coz I'm a trained Navy SEAL. Getting out of   
impossible spots is what I do best. It's part of my job description. And we   
*will* get out of this one, Li'l Red. I give you my word." He took her face in   
his hands. "The important thing is to stay calm, and not panic. We'll figure   
something out. Trust me on that. Okay?"  
  
He was looking down at her with such tenderness, such empathy, that she felt as   
though her heart would surely melt. What was more, he had a look of fierce   
determination on his face. She understood then how he was able to encourage   
countless men to follow him into battle despite terrible odds. With that look of   
encouragement, fully aware of the bravery emanating from every pore of his body,   
at that moment she would have believed him if he told her the world was flat.  
  
"Okay," she whispered, nodding her head.  
  
Lightly caressing her cheek with his thumb, he smiled at her again, making her   
feel suddenly weak in the knees.  
  
He let go of her, and slowly turned to look around the room.  
  
"So, what's the game plan?" she asked.  
  
"Well, I guess we could just let the water level rise and carry us up to the   
opening. . . ."  
  
She gave him a harsh look.  
  
"Or maybe not. Hmm." He rubbed his stubbled chin. "For now, I think we're just   
going to have to wait."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
And wait they did, as the water level steadily rose. Before long, it was at   
their ankles. Then at their knees. Their waists. In less than an hour, they were   
treading water to keep their heads above the surface.  
  
Riskey had lost his helmet and its attached light source during their tumble off   
the ravine ledge, and the remaining LED light on his belt was unfortunately not   
waterproof. So he had produced several Eternalight Ergo Marine flashlights--  
powerful little light sources shaped like small pieces of toast--and set them   
floating in the water.  
  
"Somebody up there has a lousy sense of humor," Scully muttered after a long   
spell of silence.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, don't you find it ironic? We survived several cave-ins, a trip across the   
first ravine on that rope bridge, a fall off the ledge of the second one. And   
now we're going to die trapped in this room full of water."  
  
"I told you, Scully, we're not going to die here."  
  
"Well, I hate to sound morbid, Commander, but I don't have any indication to the   
contrary. Where's this serendipitous plan you keep promising me?"  
  
"I'm still formulating it."  
  
"Forgive me if I don't hold my breath." She sighed. "God, I wish I had taken   
that vacation I had been planning for so long."  
  
"Fellow workaholic, I take it?"  
  
"Hell yeah. It's been way too long since I took some time off."  
  
"Where would you have gone?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. There are so many places I've been wanting to visit. I've   
been meaning to go see Charlie and his family in Florida. I have old med school   
friends in Boston who have been inviting me for years."  
  
"Have you ever been to New York?"  
  
"Once or twice, on business."  
  
"Have you ever taken in the sites? Done the whole tourist thing? The Empire   
State, Statue of Liberty, Central Park?"  
  
"Nope. Never had the pleasure."  
  
"You're kidding me! Geez, Scully, you don't get out much, do you?"  
  
She pursed her lips. "You a native New Yorker, I take it?"  
  
"Born and raised. Lived there until I went to Annapolis. Best place on earth, as   
far as I'm concerned. So many different, exciting cultures on one island."  
  
"The great melting pot, right?"  
  
"Hey, don't mock the Big Apple. If you saw it right, you'd speak of it with much   
more respect. With reverence."  
  
She bit back a laugh.  
  
"You're unconvinced, I can see it. My favorite time of year in New York City is   
winter. Christmastime. Ice skating in front of the tree at Rockefeller Center.   
Shopping in FAO Schwartz. The window displays at Lord and Taylor. The smell of   
fresh roasted chestnuts as you walk the city streets. Carriage rides through   
Central Park in lightly-falling snow."  
  
"Well, when you describe it that way, it does sound nice."  
  
"See. I told ya so." An idea suddenly occurred to him. "I'll make ya a deal,   
Red. If we get out of here alive, I'll take you to New York City for a weekend.   
We can do the whole tourist thing--see all the sites. Hell, I'll even take you   
to dinner and a Broadway show. Whaddaya say?"  
  
The very idea filled his face with such pleasure, created such a wonderful   
smile. How could she deny him his last request? Besides, she had to admit that   
spending a weekend in New York with Riskey was not at all an unpleasant notion.  
  
"All right, Commander. You have yourself a deal." She held her hand out to him   
and they shook on it.  
  
When she tried to pull her hand back, she found that he was still holding on   
tight. "Commander, what--?" She realized then that he was staring past her, at   
the surface of the water. "What is it? What are you looking at?"  
  
"Do you see that?"  
  
"See what?"  
  
"The water over there--it's swirling."  
  
"Swirling? Where?"  
  
"Over there." He finally released her hand, and treaded a few feet to his right.   
He held his hand out at his side beneath the surface. "I'll be damned."  
  
"What? What's going on?"  
  
"C'mere, Scully. Feel this."  
  
"Feel what?" she asked as she treaded over to him. "I don't feel anything."  
  
"Over here." He took her hand, directed it to the area where he had felt it.  
  
It took her a moment, but suddenly Scully gasped as she, too, felt it. "My God!   
There's a small current. Almost like a tiny whirlpool."  
  
"The water is being pulled out somewhere near the ground."  
  
"But from the size of that current, the opening can't be very big."  
  
"No, but perhaps it can be enlarged. I'm going to check it out."  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"I'm going to go see where the current leads. I'll be right back."  
  
"Be careful!"  
  
Nodding, he took a deep breath and dove down beneath the surface.  
  
Scully waited anxiously for the commander to resurface. The seconds slowly   
ticked by. She debated whether to go down after him, but then had to remind   
herself that as a trained SEAL, he would be rather adept at holding his breath.   
By her count, two minutes had passed, and she was getting ready to panic.  
  
Just then, he broke the surface a few yards away with a loud crash. She quickly   
swam over to him.  
  
"Commander?" she asked, touching his arm.  
  
"Found it," he gasped, taking large gulpfuls of air. "There's . . . small   
opening . . . in rockface . . . foot above floor. . . ."  
  
"How small?"  
  
"Inch . . . maybe two."  
  
Scully felt her heart sink.  
  
"Gonna try . . . to move some rocks."  
  
"Do you really think you can?"  
  
"Only one way to find out. Be back." Taking another breath, he once again   
disappeared below the surface.  
  
Scully allowed herself a small glimmer of hope. If Riskey could just dislodge   
these rocks, perhaps they would get out of this predicament after all.  
  
*Please, God, let us get out of here,* she thought, offering up a silent prayer.  
  
A couple of minutes later, he resurfaced again.  
  
"Any luck?"  
  
"No. They're jammed in there damned tight."  
  
"Can I help? Perhaps if we worked at it together?"  
  
"It's worth a shot. Here, take my hand." She treaded over to him and laced her   
fingers with his. "The opening is near the floor over here," he explained,   
pointing out the spot. "On three, take a deep breath and dive. I'll direct us   
once we're under, and when we get to the wall, we'll try to push the rock out of   
the way together."  
  
"Got it."  
  
"You ready?"  
  
She nodded. "Let's do it."  
  
"On three. One . . . Two . . . Three!"  
  
Scully took a deep breath and dove into the water with Riskey. She felt an   
insistent tug on her hand, and she followed him toward the wall. It was   
difficult to see in the dark, murky depths, but she held tight to his hand, and   
soon they had reached their destination. She could make out his gesturing to a   
specific spot on the wall. He guided her hand to the rockface, and the stone he   
was attempting to dislodge. She put her whole body into it, pushing with all of   
her strength, but it would not budge. They tried several times together to move   
it, but still nothing. Scully did not feel it give even a fraction of an inch.  
  
Her air was rapidly running out. She signaled upwards a moment before swimming   
for the top. She broke the surface, gasping for air. It had been too lon g since   
she had gone diving.  
  
A short while later, he resurfaced beside her. Wiping the water from his eyes,   
he looked over in her direction.  
  
Scully shook her head sadly. "It's no use. That rock isn't going anywhere. Not   
without a stick of dynamite, anyway."  
  
She watched as a look of excitement suddenly filled his face. "That's it!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Scully, I think you just figured out how we're going to get out of here."  
  
"I did? But all I said was--" Realization suddenly dawned. "Commander, don't   
tell me you have a stick of dynamite in your pocket?"  
  
"Nope. I've got something better."  
  
"Plastique?"  
  
He laughed. "No, actually a grenade."  
  
Scully's eyes widened. "Do you think that's wise? To set off a grenade in such a   
small, enclosed area?"  
  
"Do you have a better idea?"  
  
"No, but--"  
  
"Don't worry, Scully. All the water should blunt the force of the blast. But   
with any luck, it should be sufficient to make a hole in the wall and give us a   
means of escape."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"This is our best chance."  
  
Looking him in the eyes, she saw that he believed his own pronouncement. She   
took a deep breath. "All right. What can I do?"  
  
"Once I set it, we have about fifteen seconds till it detonates. I want you to   
be on the other side of the room before I even place it."  
  
"There's nothing I can do to help you?"  
  
"Pray."  
  
She smiled. "You've got it."  
  
"I'm gonna high tail it in your direction once I set the grenade, but I don't   
know if I'll make it all the way over before it goes off."  
  
"In either case, I'll see you on the other side," she stated. There was not a   
glimmer of doubt in her words.  
  
He grinned, taking in the beautiful sight of her own smile. "Well, you'd better   
get moving."  
  
"Commander," she said, reaching for his hand. "I- I just wanted to say . . . to   
tell you. . . ."  
  
He looked at her expectantly.  
  
"Thank you. For everything."  
  
He squeezed her hand. "It's been my pleasure. Hopefully, you'll have even more   
to thank me for in a few minutes."  
  
She nodded. "Good luck." With a final squeeze to his hand, she released her hold   
and swam toward the other side of the chamber. When she reached the wall, she   
raised her hand and waved at him.  
  
He waved back. He adjusted his hold on the grenade, took a deep breath, and   
dove.  
  
Scully watched and waited with her heart in her throat. *God, please let this   
work. Please let us make it out of here alive.*  
  
Suddenly, she saw movement in the water. She could barely make out Riskey's form   
beneath the surface swimming in her direction like a bat out of hell. If she had   
not moved to the side at the last possible moment, he would surely have barreled   
into her. As it was, he came to an abrupt stop when he crashed into the wall.  
  
"RB!" she shouted, reaching for him. She grasped both his hands in hers, felt   
him pull her close.  
  
He locked eyes with her. "Three . . . two . . . one!"  
  
They both braced themselves.  
  
A moment later, water and stone went shooting upwards from the force of the   
explosion. The sound was largely muffled by the huge volume of water, as was the   
spray of debris.  
  
At first, Scully feared that the plan had not worked. But then, suddenly, she   
felt a powerful current tugging at her.  
  
Apparently, the grenade had done the trick. A huge hole had been created in the   
wall below the surface. The sudden negative pressure had created a powerful   
whirlpool, and hundreds of gallons of water began to rush out of the newly-  
formed opening.  
  
"Hold on!" she heard Riskey shout above the sound of waves crashing against the   
walls.  
  
Before she even realized what was happening, they were pulled under. She had   
barely been able to draw a breath. Panicked, she tried to release her hold on   
Riskey and swim toward the surface and fresh air.  
  
RB had had the foresight to draw a full breath before the current towed them   
under. He felt Scully struggling to free herself, but refused to let go of her,   
not wanting them to become separated for as long as he could prevent it. From   
the way she was thrashing about, however, he knew that she was about to start   
swallowing water. Which left him with only one alternative.  
  
Still holding tight to one of her hands, he used his other to grab the back of   
her head and draw it toward his. He pressed his lips to her own. The gesture had   
its desired effect, and he felt her gasp in surprise. At that moment, when her   
lips parted, he breathed into her mouth, sharing his oxygen with her. Scully   
seemed to understand then, and she closed her mouth tightly, sealing in the   
precious air.  
  
The next thing she knew, they were being pulled toward the opening in the wall.   
The grenade was a hell of a lot more powerful than she had realized: the hole   
was large enough for them to pass through side-ways.  
  
Before long, she had lost her sense of direction as they were tossed to and fro,   
and spun upside-down by the current. They were pulled through what felt like   
miles of tunnel, occasionally banging into the walls, but mostly being swept   
straight forward at an unbelievable speed. She fought desperately to hold on to   
Riskey's hand, but it was soon ripped from her grasp. She hoped that he would   
end up in the same place she was headed.  
  
Soon, she felt her precious supply of air running out. She fought the urge to   
gasp, realizing that it would only result in her ingesting lungfuls of water.  
  
Abruptly, it seemed as though her surroundings were growing brighter. She felt   
herself thrust through some kind of threshold. She was suddenly blinded by   
bright sunlight. She felt a cool breeze on her skin, and when she opened her   
mouth, she was able to breathe. She heard a deafening roaring, as of waves   
crashing against a rocky shore.  
  
For a split second, she felt as though she had stopped moving entirely. In the   
next instant, she was falling downward through the air. Disoriented, panicked,   
she waved her arms and legs wildly, trying to find a purchase that was not   
there. She continued to fall, until suddenly her back struck the hard surface of   
water, knocking the air out of her lungs with a loud whoosh. As she sank beneath   
the surface, she felt the water enter her mouth and nose. The more she   
struggled, the more liquid she inhaled. She could not breathe, could barely   
think. She felt the strength leaving her, felt her limbs growing sluggish.  
  
And then everything went black. . . .  
  
  
*****  
  
  
When Riskey felt Scully's hand torn from his grasp, his heart sank. He hoped   
there were no tributaries, and that they would both be deposited in the same   
general vicinity by the raging current.  
  
He tried to maintain his bearings as much as possible as he was cast forward and   
turned topsy-turvy. From what he could tell, he was being carried straight in a   
single direction. Before long, he thought he noticed a difference in the water:   
there was much more light creeping in beneath the surface. That hopefully meant   
that he was about to reach the outside.  
  
He tried to rotate his body so that he was moving head-first and parallel with   
the ground. He pushed his arms out in front of his head and pointed his fingers   
together and forward, streamlining his body much as one would before a dive.  
  
Abruptly, he passed through a narrow opening and was cast outside into a bright,   
sunny day. Seeing that he was dozens of yards above what appeared to be a lake,   
he adjusted his position until his hands were pointing directly downward.  
  
He plunged into the lake with a technique that would have put countless amateur   
divers to shame. He quickly righted himself and swam upwards. He penetrated the   
surface, and took in greedy mouthfuls of fresh air. He had never been so happy   
to see the light of day.  
  
Wiping the water from his eyes, he looked around him. He heard a familiar   
roaring behind him, and turned to see a hundred-foot-high waterfall pouring out   
from the side of a rocky cliff. He realized in amazement that the rushing water   
cascading down the cliff was the means by which he had escaped the cave. As, he   
hoped, Scully had also been freed.  
  
He began to scan the lake's surface in search of her. Surely, she must have been   
cast out of the cave by now. He did a slow three-sixty, blinking in the glare   
cast by the bright sun on the water's surface.  
  
He was about half-way through his circuit when he saw it: a figure, about thirty   
feet away, floating face-down in the water.  
  
In an instant, he was swimming towards the body. As he got closer, he recognized   
the white tee-shirt and blue jeans. Reaching her, he quickly turned her over,   
saw that she was unconscious.  
  
"Shit! Hold on, Scully! Hold on!" He thought he could make out the shore several   
hundred feet away. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help keep her head   
afloat and above the surface, he started paddling for shore as quickly as he   
free arm and legs would take him.  
  
When he felt his feet strike bottom, he stopped swimming and staggered to his   
feet. He lifted Scully in his arms and ran for the shore. As he reached sand   
away from the water, he fell to his knees and dropped her to the ground on her   
back.  
  
Her face was pale, her lips practically blue. Placing his ear to her mouth, he   
verified that she was not breathing.  
  
"Don't do this, Scully!" he shouted as he began compressions on her chest. "Not   
now! Not after all this!"  
  
He pinched her nose, tilted back her head, and breathed into her mouth.  
  
He repeated the compressions. "Goddammit, Red! Fight this! Don't give up on me!"  
  
Two more breaths. Ten more compressions.  
  
Again.  
  
Still, she did not breathe. He felt his hope fading, but he refused to give up.  
  
Suddenly, her eyelids started fluttering a moment before she began to cough. He   
quickly rolled her onto her side as she forced quite a bit of water out of her   
lungs. Before long, she was down to dry heaves, and he gently lowered her onto   
her back.  
  
"Scully? Can you hear me?"  
  
She gazed up at him, trying to get her eyes to focus.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
Through the haze and the spots, she was able to make out a face. Blinking, her   
vision finally cleared. She saw the distressed face of the commander staring   
down at her.  
  
She smiled up at him. "Hey there, Big Guy," she whispered, reaching to touch his   
face.  
  
His eyes closed and his body shook with an audible sigh of relief. He placed his   
hand on hers and held it against his cheek.  
  
"Told ya . . . I'd see you . . . on the . . . other side. . . ."  
  
"That you did," he said softly. "You scared the shit out of me." He gently   
reached to push soaked tendrils and patches of sand off of her face.  
  
From the dark recesses of her memory, a phrase floated into her brain. "Had ya   
big time," she murmured.  
  
He was about to reply when he heard a noise in the distance. Shielding his eyes   
from the midmorning sun, he was able to make out two figures standing on top of   
a sandy hill.  
  
"Over here! They're over here! This way! Hurry!" he heard a man shout.  
  
"Help's on the way, Scully."  
  
"That's good," she muttered, eyes already fluttering closed.  
  
"Rest now, Li'l Red. Just rest."  
  
He looked up to see Mulder sprinting towards them, Socks only a few paces   
behind. The agent reached them first, and stopped short when he caught sight of   
his partner's prone form.  
  
"Oh, God! Scully! What happened?" he demanded, dropping to his knees beside her.  
  
"We made it out of the cave riding a waterfall. I found her face-down in the   
lake, not breathing. I administered CPR, and she regained consciousness."  
  
"Scully, can you hear me?" he asked, gently touching her forehead. "Scully, it's   
Mulder."  
  
Slowly, her eyelids flickered, and she opened them enough to look up at him. "M-  
Mulder. . . ?"  
  
He smiled down at her. "Yeah, Scully, it's me. It's okay. Everything's going to   
be okay now," he assured her as he took her hand in his and squeezed it. "You're   
going to be fine." He kissed her hand.  
  
Riskey got up and took a few steps back to give them some privacy.  
  
"C'mon, assholes, move it!" Socks shouted to the paramedics who were several   
yards behind him. "Shake a leg! We've got a woman down!" He hurried over to   
where the others were gathered. "Mark! Good to see ya, boss-man!" he said,   
enveloping his friend in a bear-hug. "We were afraid you were a goner."  
  
"Aw, c'mon now, Socks. You know it takes more than a little cave-in to keep me   
down."  
  
"So, what happened? Is Doc okay?"  
  
"Well, now that she's breathing again, hopefully she'll be fine."  
  
"Stand back! Give us some room!" one of the EMS workers shouted as he and his   
partner hurried over to Scully. They began to work on her, but quickly found   
that Mulder was in the way. "Sir, please, you'll have to stand back."  
  
"C'mon, Mulder, let the medics do their job," Socks said gently, putting an arm   
on his shoulder.  
  
"I'll be right nearby, Scully," he assured her before letting Socks lead him   
away.  
  
A third medic tried to convince Riskey to let her evaluate his condition, but he   
brusquely refused her attempts at an examination. "I'm fine," he assured her.   
"Just go help Agent Scully."  
  
The three men watched in silence as the paramedics assessed Scully's vitals, set   
up an iv line, and gave her oxygen. They loaded her onto a stretcher and began   
to carry her back toward the waiting helicopter. Mulder returned to Scully's   
side, keeping pace alongside the EMS workers.  
  
"How's Robbins?" RB asked Socks as they jogged behind the medics.  
  
"By now, he's probably in surgery. They called in their orthopedic and vascular   
specialists."  
  
Riskey smiled, remembering Scully's prognosis.  
  
"And the canister?"  
  
Socks shook his head. "I checked the tracker after the cave-in right before we   
moved on. Buried beneath hundreds on feet of rock. There was no way to get to   
it."  
  
"Probably just as well. Damned thing caused more trouble than it could ever be   
worth."  
  
They watched the medics load Scully into the helicopter, and Mulder climbing in   
along with them.  
  
"I've got a jeep here," Socks told him. "We can take that, unless you want to   
crowd into the copter."  
  
"Jeep's fine."  
  
As they made their way toward Socks' jeep, he watched the helicopter take off   
and disappear into the bright blue sky.  
  
  
End Chapter 14  
  
  
***** 


	15. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ep...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 15/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Epilogue Part 1  
  
  
And you try to find yourself  
In the abstractions of religion  
And the cruelty of everyone else  
And you wake up to realize  
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive  
  
  
Mulder did not hear the knock at first. His attention was focused on one of the   
maps that were strewn across the desk in his hotel room. He had been   
scrutinizing this particular sketch for the past half hour, but to no avail: it   
was not giving him the information for which he was searching.  
  
It was only when the knock was repeated more insistently that he finally noticed   
the noise.  
  
Uncurling his body from the hunched-up position in which he had been sitting,   
Mulder stood up and tossed his glasses onto the pile of papers. As he made his   
way over to the door, he stretched his arms and bent his head this way and that   
to get the kinks out of his neck.  
  
When he opened the door, his visitor greeted him with a familiar easy-going   
smile.  
  
"Hey, G-Man, what's up?" Even in the casual attire of a tee-shirt and jeans, the   
athletic build and confident stance made the man's military training   
unmistakable. The obvious five o'clock shadow--and perhaps the cocky, rebellious   
glint in his eye--was the only hint that he was not a spit-and-polish soldier   
from one of the more illustrious branches of the armed forces, but rather a   
rough-and-tumble commando well-versed in the arts of unconventional warfare.  
  
"Hi, Socks," Mulder replied, shaking the other man's proffered hand. "Thanks for   
stopping by." He stepped back, and gestured for the SEAL to come inside.  
  
"No problem. I headed over just as soon as I got your message." Socks looked   
around as he entered. Taking in the size and splendor of the room, he whistled   
in admiration. "So this is how the other half lives. Obviously you Feds get   
better treatment than us military grunts."  
  
Mulder chuckled. "Hardly. Believe me, this is the exception to the rule. It's   
only because the father of one of the victims in the case we were sent here to   
investigate owns the place. Otherwise, I'm sure we'd be staying in Hawaii's   
version of Motel 6."  
  
"Compared to some of the places I've had to sleep in my lifetime, Motel 6 would   
be like staying in a penthouse suite."  
  
Socks' attention was then drawn to the desk, and the piles of papers that were   
scattered across its surface. Walking closer, he saw maps of the island of Nihau   
and of the Lehua Caves, tourist brochures on the Hawaiian Archipelago, type-  
written police reports, and a number of crime scene photographs. Off to one   
side, next to the laptop whose keyboard was partially covered by paperwork, was   
a tray from room-service with a meal that was only half-touched.  
  
"Been busy I see," Socks remarked, picking up a brochure for a closer look.  
  
"I've been going over these maps, trying to figure out where we were when the   
cave-in separated us from Scully and Riskey--specifically, where the tunnel was   
in relation to the cave entrance. Unfortunately, not much has been documented in   
regards to charted pathways in the Lehua Caves. It would appear that most of   
what was known about those tunnels died with our guide, Uncle Stu."  
  
Mulder shook his head sadly at the recollection of Stu's untimely death. Feeling   
partly responsible, Mulder had insisted to Detective Agbayani that he would   
inform Stu's brother about the unfortunate accident himself. Stu's younger   
sibling had taken the news surprisingly well; he seemed oddly comforted by the   
fact that Stu would spend all eternity within the stony caverns to which he had   
devoted his entire adult life and about which he could never stop talking   
passionately. 'Maybe he'll finally meet one of his beloved Kahunas,' the brother   
had said.  
  
The sound of Socks' voice brought Mulder out of his reverie. "And you're looking   
for this information why?"  
  
Pushing away any lingering feelings of guilt, Mulder instead focused on the task   
at hand. "Agent Scully and I were sent to Hawaii to investigate the mysterious   
death of two teenagers," he explained as he rifled through his piles of papers.   
"It seems the kids were wandering around the caves near the entrance when   
something killed them--incinerated the flesh right off of their bones." He   
handed Socks a photo from the crime scene.  
  
The SEAL took it, stared at the image of two skeletons laying side-by-side on   
the cave floor. Aside from a small frown, Socks' face betrayed no other emotion   
at the gruesome sight of the victims' remains. There was little doubt that he   
had seen far worse during his years as a soldier, that he had learned to harden   
his heart to such horrendous sights. He wordlessly handed the photo back to   
Mulder.  
  
"How long were they missing before their bodies were discovered?"  
  
"Less than twenty-four hours."  
  
Socks scowled in disbelief. "No way is that possible. It'd take months for those   
bodies to completely decompose."  
  
"Well, Scott Robinson and Kilikina Ainalani were each seen alive and well by   
members of their respective families several hours before they went missing. And   
their remains were discovered early the next morning," Mulder said, gesturing to   
the photo. "What's even more bizarre is the fact that their backpacks were found   
against one of the cave walls, with not a singe on them."  
  
"That's wild, man," Socks said, slowly shaking his head. "But what does it have   
to do with the cave-ins or our little journey through the cave?"  
  
"I think that canister you and your team were sent to retrieve is what killed   
those kids."  
  
For the briefest of moments, Socks' eyes registered his surprise. But just as   
quickly, the reaction was gone, his expression once more nonchalant. "I don't   
know what you're talking about," he said, crossing his arms. "Who said anything   
about a canister?"  
  
"Drop the cloak and dagger bullshit, Socks, because I'm really not in the mood,"   
Mulder snapped. "Your commander already told Scully that the object was a   
canister, and that it showed up on the government's sensors two nights before we   
all met up in the caves--the same night Scott and Kilikina died. I believe in   
coincidences as much as the next guy, but I've also been in this business long   
enough to recognize when something is not due merely to chance. You said   
yourself that the canister seemed to be the source of the cave-ins. If it was   
able to cause all those quakes, I think it was powerful enough to kill those   
kids."  
  
This time Socks did not bother to hide the incredulous look from his face.   
"Generating an explosion or a concussive blast that pulverizes rock is one   
thing. But how could the same device do that to those kids' bodies?"  
  
"I was hoping you could tell me," Mulder said with a small grin. "You're   
probably much more up to speed on the latest in military technology."  
  
"You're a real piece of work, you know that, G-man?" Socks chuckled. "You know I   
can't discuss that kind of info--not even with a Fed."  
  
"I'm not asking for details about the mechanisms. I just want to know if the   
technology is even feasible."  
  
Socks hesitated.  
  
"Off the record," Mulder amended. "Just between you and me."  
  
Socks sighed heavily. "Off the top of my head, I can think of at least a dozen   
weapons in various stages of development that could cause the cave-ins. There   
are a probably at least a dozen more that require higher clearance than my rank   
allows. But none of 'em can melt the flesh off of bones. That sounds more like a   
biological weapon. And even those would leave evidence--either on the skeletons   
themselves, or the nearby surroundings."  
  
"Is it possible for the two types of devices to be packaged together in a single   
device?"  
  
"Doubtful. I would think the components of each would be unstable, that the risk   
of one affecting the other, or of setting off both, would be astronomically   
high."  
  
"So what you're telling me is that there's no device known to man that could be   
responsible for both the manner in which those kids died and the cave-ins?"  
  
Socks was silent a moment, considering. Finally, he shook his head. "To the best   
of my knowledge, no, there's no such animal."  
  
Mulder nodded, a small, knowing smile creeping across his face. "That's what I   
thought you'd say."  
  
"I don't get it, Mulder. If the technology doesn't exist, then isn't your whole   
theory blown?"  
  
"Not necessarily. Maybe the effects we witnessed were not due to man-made   
technology at all."  
  
"What, then?"  
  
"Scully suggested that perhaps there was some sort of volatile chemical reaction   
going off in the canister."  
  
"In which case, the canister may be some sort of biological or chemical weapon?"  
  
"That's what Scully thinks, yes."  
  
"But you've got your own theory?"  
  
Mulder nodded. "I agree it's likely that there was some sort of reaction going   
on in the canister. But I don't think it was intended to occur. I think that   
initially the canister was placed somewhere in the cave near the entrance,   
perhaps to hide it. But around the time the kids entered the cave for their   
little midnight tryst, the canister got damaged. Maybe whoever put it there   
heard the kids coming, had to bee-line it out of there to avoid being   
discovered, and didn't have enough time to secure it. Or maybe it had been   
sitting there a long time unnoticed, but the kids managed to knock it over--say   
when things started getting hot and heavy.  
  
"Regardless of how it happened, the seal on the canister was broken. And   
whatever it was housing must have been an unstable substance. I think that   
whatever this substance was, it mixed with something in the cave environment   
that served as a potent catalyst. Maybe it was the oxygen in the air, the   
humidity, Kilikina's perfume, Scott's raging hormones--hell maybe it was the   
goddammed bat guano or even a lingering Kahuna cave spirit."  
  
Socks rolled his eyes. "I don't have to be a chemist to know you're reaching."  
  
"I know, I know. But just bear with me a moment, will you?"  
  
Grinning despite himself, Socks nodded for Mulder to continue.  
  
"Let's just say that something in the cave interacted with the canister's   
contents, and together they created a substance capable of turning those kids   
into a couple piles of bones. But it didn't end there. In fact, maybe it was   
just an intermediate stage of the reaction that made it capable of incinerating   
flesh--otherwise, wouldn't we have met the same fate when we got close to it?   
  
"Anyway, the reaction continued, perhaps changing from a substance   
capable of melting only organic material to one able to eat through solid rock.   
The canister fell deeper into the cave, eventually ending up near the ledge   
where you later discovered it on your sensors. And while it was there, it   
continued the irrevocable chemical reaction that had begun near the cave   
entrance. Only by then it was transformed into a product that was capable of   
producing explosive force. This product was the source of the cave-ins that we   
all witnessed during our various hikes through the caves. Until, ultimately, one   
of the blasts it created buried it beneath tons of rock."  
  
As Mulder concluded his narrative, Socks' brow furrowed. He looked over at   
Mulder thoughtfully. "That's all well and good. Heck, it would make for one hell   
of a sci-fi flick. Only problem is, there is no such chemical known to man."  
  
"No chemical known to or made by *humans*, you mean."  
  
The room fell silent as Socks tried to make sense of Mulder's statement. At   
first, he thought Mulder had been correcting him for not using a more P.C. term   
that included the fairer sex. But then, as he recalled what he had recently   
learned about the nature of the cases Mulder and his partner investigated, it   
became suddenly apparent that the agent had been referring to _Homo sapiens_ as   
a species.  
  
For several moments, Socks stood staring at the maps as he pondered the   
implications of Mulder's latest theory. Then, as Socks lowered his head, his   
shoulders slowly began to shake. Before long, he let loose with a loud, raucous   
peal of laughter.  
  
"Oh, that's rich, man. That is so rich." He ran a hand across his mouth as he   
tried to quell his chuckles. "You really think that some little green men left   
that canister in a Hawaiian cave?"  
  
Mulder forced a smile. "I don't know who placed it there, or for what reason,   
but whatever's in it--I don't think that substance is of earthly origin. I know   
you have no reason to believe me, Socks. But if you had seen all the things I've   
witnessed over the years, you'd--"  
  
"Hey, hold on a sec," Socks said, holding up a staying hand. "I never said I   
didn't believe you. As far as I'm concerned, without the actual canister to   
analyze, your explanation is no more right or wrong than your partner's or   
anybody else's."  
  
This time it was Mulder's turn to stare at Socks incredulously. "You're kidding   
me, right? You're not dismissing my theory right off the bat as--"  
  
". . . completely out there?" Socks suggested. "Hell, man, it sure as hell beats   
the idea that some terrorists or right-wing extremists put it there." Chuckling,   
he gave Mulder a friendly slap on the back. "I'll just bet that Scully usually   
gives you hell for all this alien talk."  
  
"How'd you guess?"  
  
"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that you and your partner exchange a   
healthy dose of differing opinions."  
  
Mulder had to smile at the accuracy of Socks' assessment. "That's putting it   
mildly."  
  
"So does Scully think you're totally off your rocker for what you're proposing   
about the canister?"  
  
"No more so than usual. As I've come to expect, she refuses to commit to any   
particular explanation without definitive scientific proof. Which is actually   
where you fit in."  
  
"Me?" Socks looked utterly taken aback. "What the hell do I have to do with   
anything?"  
  
"Well, when that canister was buried, so were our chances of ever proving what   
happened to those kids. But with your help, I think I can make a decent case for   
my theory."  
  
"Okay, Mulder--I'll bite. How do you think I can help your cause?"  
  
"Did you bring the data I asked for?" Mulder asked, walking back toward the   
desk.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Well, where are they?" Mulder asked, looking at the empty-handed SEAL   
expectantly.  
  
"Right here," Socks said, tapping his temple with his index finger. "Anything   
you need to know is stored in the ole noggin'."  
  
"You're kidding, right? You've memorized the coordinates for our little hike in   
the cave?"  
  
Socks laughed. "You forget that I'm usually the point man for Team Alpha. I   
can't very well carry around and refer to a cheat sheet when rappelling down a   
cliff, deep-sea diving, or trudging through a muddy jungle in the dead of night   
in the midst of pouring rain. And believe me, RB'd have my hide if I led us in   
the wrong direction."  
  
"Yeah, but couldn't you have brought a print-out of the data your tracker   
collected during your mission?"  
  
"That data is no longer in my hands. Besides the fact that technically the info   
you're asking about is classified."  
  
Mulder had been afraid of this. Fearing the worst, he had been prepared to   
accept that the commander's admitting to Scully that the object was a canister   
might be the extent of the information revealed by the members of Team Alpha.  
  
"I understand," Mulder said, reaching for one of the many charts that littered   
the desktop. "How good are you at reading maps?"  
  
"I'd say I can hold my own," Socks said, walking closer. "And since I just so   
happened to look over all the data the tracker compiled before my team's   
debriefing, and since I just happen to remember the coordinates, I don't really   
see the harm in taking a look at these maps and maybe pointing to some landmarks   
here and there."  
  
Mulder smiled. "Socks, buddy, you are the man."  
  
"And don't you forget it." He picked up one of the maps. "So, what exactly is it   
you want to know?"  
  
"The location of the canister when it registered on your tracker in relation to   
where the bodies were found."  
  
"Oh, is that all?" Socks dead-panned as he began to scrutinize the maps more   
closely. Sitting down behind the desk, he continued to examine the various   
sketches and charts, attempting to correlate the memorized coordinates with the   
ink drawings. Mulder stood by watching patiently, until Socks was finally ready   
to announce his conclusions.  
  
"To the best of my knowledge, I'd say that the crime scene is located only about   
a hundred feet above the ravine where the canister lit up the tracker's   
sensors," Socks said. "Maybe there was another sink hole around that it fell   
through."  
  
"Or maybe it made its own path for the journey through the rock."  
  
"Maybe," Socks conceded. He ran a hand across his short-cropped, curly black   
hair. "Anything else I can help you out with?"  
  
Mulder thought a moment. "Not really--unless you can tell me what was in that   
canister, who wanted it, and for what purpose."  
  
Socks grinned as he got to his feet. "Sorry, man. No can do. I'm just a lowly   
Lieutenant. You want any more info, you need to hassle someone with more   
security clearance--like RB."  
  
"That's okay. I think I should probably quit while I'm ahead," Mulder muttered.   
"Thanks for all your help, Socks," he said, holding out his hand.  
  
"Sure thing," Socks replied, shaking it. "So now we even for my slugging you?"  
  
"No problem," Mulder said, clearing the papers off of the laptop. "I should   
probably be thanking you for knocking some sense into me."  
  
"Yeah, well, don't kick yourself about it. Life-threatening situations tend to   
bring out the worst in all of us."  
  
"Except for those of us who thrive on them," Mulder mumbled.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Nothing," Mulder told Socks as he opened a file on his computer. He was   
relieved to find that Socks let the subject drop.  
  
"So, you think the close proximity of the crime scene and the canister will help   
your investigation?"  
  
"We'll see what happens when my boss reads the case report."  
  
"Think this info will at least help convince your partner about the link between   
the deaths and the canister?"  
  
"Maybe. I'll have to run it by her tomorrow, during the plane ride back to D.C."  
  
"I take it she's not as into this whole alien canister theory, huh?"  
  
"No, I think pondering the true nature of a mysterious, unknown chemical of   
purported extraterrestrial origin is probably about the furthest thing from   
Agent Scully's mind tonight."  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe you should follow her lead. If this is your last night in   
Hawaii, you sure as hell shouldn't spend it cooped up in a hotel room, buried   
beneath a stack of papers. You're staying on an island paradise. You should get   
out there and enjoy it."  
  
"I've never really been a big fan of the beach."  
  
"You suits work too hard," Socks chastised with a disappointed shake of the   
head. He glanced at his watch. "Ah, geez, I need to get going."  
  
"I'll walk you out."  
  
"Man, this Robinson Resort is the way to go," Socks remarked as they made their   
way to the door. "You must have an awesome view of the ocean."  
  
"I guess," Mulder shrugged.  
  
Socks glanced past him, saw that the drapes on the far wall were drawn. His eyes   
swept once more across the room, passing over the cluttered desk and half-eaten   
meal. As they came to rest once more on Mulder, Socks took note of the subtle   
slouching of his shoulders, the downtrodden cast of the other man's eyes.  
  
"Thanks again," Mulder said, opening the hotel room door.  
  
"My pleasure," Socks replied as he began to leave. He was part-way through the   
doorway when he turned back. "Hey, Mulder, I'm on my way to meet Toller at this   
beach-side bar. You wanna join us for a beer?"  
  
For a moment, Mulder seemed to consider the idea. "Thanks, but I think I'll   
pass."  
  
"C'mon, man--you look like you could use the fresh air."  
  
"Like I said, I'm not a big beach fan. Besides, I need to finish up my report."  
  
"All right. Suit yourself. We'll probably be there for a while. If you change   
your mind and decide to join us, it's called Pacific Spirits."  
  
"Will do."  
  
"You take care of yourself, G-man."  
  
"You too, Socks. Good-night."  
  
With a final nod and a smile, Socks took his leave.  
  
Closing the door, Mulder made his way back across the room. He had been headed   
for the desk, but stopped instead in front of the drapes. He reached for the   
cord, slowly pulled them apart, revealing full-length glass doors. Unlocking   
them, he stepped outside onto the balcony. He walked over to the steel railing   
and gazed out at the long strip of beach. The sand glistened almost white in the   
bright light cast by the moon. He could practically taste the mild, salt-filled   
breeze as it blew past, its feather-light touch calm and soothing on his skin.  
  
Mulder watched as a young couple strolled by hand-in-hand below him. The woman   
pushed her wind-tossed golden tresses out of her eyes as the man bent closer to   
whisper to her. She smiled, and they laughed happily as they continued down the   
beach. Mulder gripped the railing tightly even as a shiver ran through him.  
  
With a weary sigh, he turned away and walked back inside. He locked the door and   
drew the drapes before sitting back down at the desk. Moving the computer   
closer, he found himself staring at the screen. It was a good hour before he   
finally began to type.  
  
  
End Epilogue Part 1  
  
  
***** 


	16. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ep...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 16/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Epilogue Part 2  
  
  
Dana Scully peered at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. It seemed that   
no amount of concealer, foundation, or powder was going to completely cover the   
prominent purple bruise on her left temple. A liberal dose of make-up had   
managed to reduce it to a pinkish-blue spot, but it still remained perfectly   
obvious. She reminded herself that it was still far more attractive than   
plastering a big band-aid on her forehead. And it was not as though her dinner   
companion did not know how she had received it. Hell, he had been there with her   
at the time--if not by her side then at least in the general vicinity.  
  
She should, she realized, wear it now as a badge of honor--a testament to the   
hell she had been forced to endure, and which she had managed to survive   
otherwise relatively unscathed.  
  
Hmm. Why was it that cuts and bruises and even scars actually made a man appear   
more attractive, whereas they were instead a source of embarrassment or shame   
for a woman? she wondered. Another of society's socially-constructed double   
standards, she realized with a sigh.  
  
She consoled herself in the fact that the rest of her attire would hopefully   
distract her companion's attention from the one small blemish. Taking a few   
steps back, she stared at her image in the full-length mirror. She had packed   
this dress on a whim, but was now certainly glad that she had. A pale mint   
green, its spaghetti-straps and low-cut bodice revealed just enough creamy-white   
skin to tantalize. The tube dress hugged her body discretely, nonetheless   
accentuating her slim waist and sweeping curves. She was thankful not only that   
it was ankle-length, but also that the long slit was up the back and not the   
side, thus concealing the numerous scrapes, scratches, and bruises her legs had   
received during her recent adventure. A pair of heeled sandals completed the   
outfit; with such a tall date, she was definitely going to need the added   
height.  
  
Applying a liberal dose of perfume to her wrists and neck as well as to a couple   
of other strategic places, she felt satisfied with her appearance. A quick   
glance at her watch revealed that she had better get moving if she were going to   
be on time. She pulled on a matching lacy-knit short-cropped sweater, grabbed   
her purse, and headed out the hotel room door toward the elevator.  
  
A few minutes later, she stepped out into the hotel lobby. As she headed for the   
lounge, she found herself admiring the ornate beauty that surrounded her. Light   
from the fading sun flooded through the sweeping glass panels that stretched   
from ceiling to floor, revealing a breathtaking view of the deep blue ocean and   
white sands outside. Armchairs and plump sofas upholstered in fine leather were   
scattered about. Lush tropical flowers and palms dotted the marble floor, along   
with glass screens decorated with frosted floral designs. Being put up in   
Robinson's hotel here in Maui was definitely a treat, especially after all the   
seedy dumps she and Mulder had stayed in over the years. She could definitely   
get used to this kind of luxury. The things one could do with an unlimited   
expense account. . . .  
  
Entering the lounge, she scanned the room. There were some businessmen on a   
couch talking, a couple seated by the window, a man in an arm chair by the far   
wall, another couple standing by--  
  
She did a double-take and glanced back at the man who sat in the overstuffed   
chair, leafingthrough a magazine. Lord, she had not even recognized him. When he   
had come to visit her in the hospital, he had been dressed casually and had not   
even bothered to shave. The man she saw now appeared to be another person   
entirely. She found herself staring at him, feet suddenly plastered to the   
floor. Her heart had sped up enormously, and she feared it was so loud it must   
be echoing in the room.  
  
She could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous. Hell, she could   
barely remember the last time she had been on a date. Discounting that entire Ed   
Jerse fiasco, it had been more years than she cared to recall. She had almost   
forgotten the delicious tingle of anticipation before the initial greeting. It   
was new, it was exciting, it was just what she needed to forget--  
  
At that moment, he caught her eye. Smiling, he put down the magazine and started   
to rise.  
  
*Well, here goes nothin',* Dana thought. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the   
room to meet him.  
  
As she approached, she saw how his eyes moved slowly down her body--assessing   
her, she realized. Well, she must have passed the test, because it elicited   
quite a reaction. He grinned broadly, and she was struck by how much that   
gesture changed his face and lightened his features. His deep blue eyes danced   
with pleasure. And she noticed now--probably because this was the first   
opportunity she had to see him clean-shaven--the huge dimples that appeared   
whenever he smiled. Ever since she was a teenager, she had always been a sucker   
for a big pair of dimples.  
  
"Hello, Commander," she said in greeting.  
  
"Agent Scully," he replied.  
  
At the same time he was appraising her, she took in his appearance as well. He   
was dressed semi-casually: black jeans, white button-down shirt, black vest. He   
really was a big man, powerfully built. Even with the civilian attire, his well-  
kept physique was evident. Though not too tight, the shirt obviously covered a   
broad chest and well-sculpted arms. And even with her nearly three-inch heels,   
Dana barely came to his shoulder.  
  
Normally, she would find such a presence intimidating, would feel a little   
unsettled standing so close to him. But not with this man. For some reason, she   
felt at ease with him. He made her feel safe, comfortable. It had been a long   
time since a man had been able to make her feel that way. Longer still that she   
had allowed it. Too long, she realized.  
  
She also realized how silly their using formal titles sounded. They had spent   
countless hours alone together in close quarters, trapped in a cave. They had   
been forced to work together closely in order to survive the experience--which   
included her having to use his body as a ladder in order to help save them from   
falling. They had huddled together in one another's arms to avoid hypothermia.   
He had given her CPR and saved her life. Surely, that meant they were beyond   
this and ready to be on more familiar terms.  
  
"Please, call me Dana."  
  
He smiled. There were those damned dimples again. She felt almost weak in the   
knees.  
  
"Only if you call me Mark."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"You look beautiful, Dana."  
  
"Thank you. You're looking mighty good there yourself, Mark."  
  
"Never would'a thought I could clean up so well, huh?"  
  
"Well, considering I was the one who took a bath in bat guano, I really   
shouldn't judge."  
  
"I've always admired women who aren't afraid to get a little dirty in order to   
get the job done."  
  
"The stories I could tell you. . . ."  
  
"Well, Dana, the night is young. There'll be plenty of time for you to tell me   
all about them. Oh, I almost forgot--" He carefully reached into the inner   
pocket of his vest and revealed a lavender, long-petaled tropical orchid. "This   
is for you."  
  
Dana could not help but gasp at the sight of the exquisite blossom. "Oh, Mark,   
it's absolutely gorgeous."  
  
She started to reach for it, but he quickly pulled it away. She looked up at him   
in confusion, not understanding what it was she had done wrong.  
  
"This type of flower was meant to decorate, to show off the superior beauty of   
the wearer. Would you mind--?" he asked, beginning to move his hand toward her   
head. She was a little taken aback, but at the same t ime quite flattered. She   
nodded for him to go ahead.  
  
With nothing but gentleness, he pushed the stem into her hair and tucked it   
behind her ear. The awareness of his light touch on her bare flesh created a   
warm reaction, deep in her core, that slowly began to spread to her extremities.  
  
"How's it look?" she asked him.  
  
"Beautiful. So, you hungry, Dana?"  
  
"Yes. Did you have a place in mind for dinner?"  
  
"Do you like Japanese?"  
  
"I've only had it a few times, but I've always enjoyed it. Do you know a good   
restaurant around here?"  
  
"One of the best there is."  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me."  
  
"Great." He held out his arm in a chivalrous gesture. With a smile, she slipped   
her hand into the crook of his elbow, happily anticipating what she was sure   
would prove to be a delightful evening.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"I hope you don't mind going the traditional route," Mark said as he held the   
door of the restaurant open for her.  
  
"Well, I know how to use chopsticks, if that's what you mean," she replied.  
  
He laughed softly. "No, actually, I was referring to the arrangement of the   
restaurant--more specifically, the tables."  
  
As she stepped inside, Dana felt as though she had been transported to another   
world. Gentle music filled the air, instantly relaxing her. Amidst the soothing   
low lighting, she looked at the numerous decorations: large paper rice screens,   
paper lanterns, ornamental fans, paintings with brush-stroked characters that   
hung on the walls. On the opposite end of the room, a chef stood behind a   
counter, chopping vegetables. As she glanced around at the patrons who filled   
the restaurant, she realized what Mark had meant by "traditional": they were all   
sitting on the floor.  
  
"It's the Japanese custom for dining," he explained. "There are mats and   
cushions. Dana, if you're not comfortable with it, we can go--"  
  
"No, no, this is fine. It's great." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Hey, if   
we're going to eat Japanese food, we might as well get the full cultural   
experience, right?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Irasshai mase! Welcome," a hostess said as she came over. She was dressed in an   
exquisite jade green kimono embroidered with flowers and birds, along with a   
darker green obi--a wide sash that was wrapped around her waist and fastened in   
back. Her hair was done up in a bun, in which was placed a pair of decorative   
sticks from which dangled ornaments of birds. On her feet were a pair of white   
silk tabi and a beautiful pair of zori, or lacquered sandals.  
  
Mark indicated that they needed a table for two. "Uhm, Dana, there's one other   
custom we're going to have to observe before we can sit down. . . ."  
  
She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He did not reply, however; merely   
averted his eyes. She followed his gaze downward to her feet.  
  
A few minutes later, the hostess had led them to a raised cubicle in the far   
corner of the restaurant behind a sliding paper rice door. Mark removed his   
shoes, and Dana followed suit, slipping out of her sandals. She padded across a   
woven reed mat to where one of two thin cushions lay before a table.  
  
As she slowly lowered herself to the cushioned floor, she was unsuccessful in   
trying to bite back a small moan.  
  
About to sit down, Mark looked at her, concern filling his face.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm still a little sore from our cave adventure. I seem to keep   
discovering new bruises all the time."  
  
"I know what you mean," he chuckled as he seated himself across from her. "I   
think some of my bruises have bruises."  
  
"I'm just glad I can move my arms. They've been really sore from all that   
climbing I had to do. I think you're going to have to give me some exercise   
pointers so I can get in better shape."  
  
"You're already in excellent shape, Dana. But if you ever want to tone up a bit,   
we could always work out together. The great thing I've discovered about   
exercise is that there're so many other ways to do it than just going to the gym   
or for a run."  
  
"Like sports, you mean?"  
  
"Yeah, I do play a lot of sports. But I also like to go hiking, rappelling,   
mountain climbing. Skiing, surfing, sailing. Basically, anything that gets me   
outdoors."  
  
"I can't remember the last time I've been sailing."  
  
"Too bad we don't have more time here. The Pacific is wonderful, and these   
islands are beautiful. But, hey, when we get back to the states, we should go   
sailing sometime."  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
He smiled at her, and she could not help but return the gesture.  
  
"So," she said, picking up her menu, "what do you recommend?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking we could go with some sushi. . . ."  
  
"Raw fish, huh?" The mild displeasure in her voice was obvious.  
  
"Ever had it before?"  
  
She shook her head. "I think the doctor in me just has an aversion to eating raw   
meat."  
  
"Well, I've had it dozens of times, and I'm still here. But I want you to enjoy   
dinner, so if you're not comfortable--"  
  
"No, that's okay. I feel like tonight's a night for trying new things, taking   
chances. I'll try some."  
  
"Great. We'll get some different types. I'll also order some California rolls,   
which have crab meat and avocado. You like soup?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Konichi-wa," said the waitress, giving a small bow as she came over to the   
table with a teapot and poured them each a cup of green tea. She, too, wore a   
beautiful kimono: hers was pale blue, and decorated with the pattern of rolling   
waves on the ocean.  
  
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied. Then he said something to her in Japanese, and she   
laughed.  
  
Before Dana had the chance to speak, Mark began to place their order in   
Japanese. "Chuumon o onegai shimasu . . ." he began, glancing down at the menu.   
To Dana's untrained ear, his inflection sounded like that of a native speaker.   
All she could make out were the words "miso," "sushi," "fugu," and "sake".  
  
With a small bow, the waitress took their menus and left.  
  
"I didn't realize you could speak Japanese," Dana remarked. "That was quite   
impressive."  
  
"Well, with all the places I've been, I've managed to pick up some phrases here   
and there."  
  
"That sounded like more than picking up a few phrases. Your accent was   
impeccable."  
  
"I've always been good with languages," he admitted.  
  
"How many do you speak?"  
  
He looked skyward a moment, considering. "Japanese. Some Chinese. French.   
Spanish. A bit of Portuguese. Some Italian. A touch of Russian."  
  
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"   
  
"Genug zum vorbei Erhalten, fraulein. Sind Sie flieúend?"  
  
"Ich erlernte etwas Deutsches in der Universitat." I learned some German in   
university.  
  
The waitress returned with a teapot and two small tea cups.  
  
"Arigatou gozaimasu," Mark said. "Do you drink sake?" he asked   
Dana.  
  
"I've actually never had it before."  
  
"It's a bit strong," he warned her, "but quite good. Shall I pour you some?"  
  
"Sure." He handed her one of the small cups of warm rice wine.  
  
"I suggest drinking it in small sips," he warned her. "It's pretty strong."  
  
She nodded. "Should we make about a toast?"  
  
"Sure. How about . . . 'to new friends'?"  
  
"To new friends," she agreed, gently clinking her cup to his. As she lifted it   
closer, the first thing she noticed was the powerful, almost herbal scent that   
assailed her sinuses. When Dana took a cautious sip, she was surprised that the   
flavor was not sweet, as she had expected, but instead tasted more like hot   
vodka. It burned going down, much as she remembered her last experience with   
whiskey.  
  
"Well?" Mark asked. He had already drained his cup, and was seemingly unaffected   
by the experience. And why should he be? she realized. Given his background,   
this was probably like drinking water. Hell, he could probably drink half the   
men in the Navy under the table and not even get a buzz.  
  
"It's got bite, that's for sure," Dana managed to say.  
  
"More?" he asked her, even as he refilled his own glass.  
  
"Why, Mark, are you trying to get me drunk?"  
  
"Now, what sort of impression would that give?" He downed a second cupful in a   
few quick swallows. "Nah. I usually don't try that till the second date." He   
filled his glass and offered her again.  
  
Dana shook her head. "I think I'll nurse this one for a while," she replied,   
taking a sip of her tea. "So, how is Robbins doing?"  
  
"Feeling no pain, that's for sure, the way they've got him doped up. He was in   
surgery over nine hours. They said that because of the huge risk of infection,   
they couldn't put any rods, plates, or screws inside his leg, since it could   
spread the infection. So they stuck the metal on the outside instead. He's got   
all these pins sticking out of his leg, attached to these metal rods."  
  
"An external fixator?"  
  
Mark nodded. "It's one hell of a massive contraption. Plus, he had to have a   
fasciotomy. Because of the vascular injury, they were worried he might develop   
some sort of complication . . . what did they call it? . . . Compartment   
syndrome, I think. The way it was explained to me, they needed to alleviate the   
pressure in his leg to prevent any additional damage to his muscles and nerves.   
Now, they're just waiting for some of the swelling to go down, and then they'll   
close it up. They want to keep him another couple of days after that surgery to   
monitor the healing. If he continues to improve afterwards, then they said we   
can move him--transfer him to a stateside hospital."  
  
"So there are no signs of infection?"  
  
"Nope. Though they've had him on massive doses of antibiotics since they brought   
him in, just in case. You know, he was really lucky you were there, Dana."  
  
She shrugged her shoulders. "It was nothing."  
  
"For Christ's sake, Dana, you saved his life. Going into surgery, they weren't   
sure if they were even going to be able to save his leg. But when they took a   
look at your handiwork, the docs at the hospital were impressed as hell. Said it   
looked like a surgeon had worked on him. They said that if you hadn't acted so   
quickly--and so skillfully--he probably would have bled to death. And that if   
you hadn't stabilized him the way you did, he probably would have had nerve   
damage, or the blood supply would have been completely lost. He's damned lucky   
you were there."  
  
Dana met his eyes, saw the way they were focused on her, and quickly looked   
away, blushing. It had been a long time since she had received such   
unadulterated praise. It felt good. Better than good. Wonderful. It was a great   
feeling to be appreciated, for her actions to be deeply valued. She could   
definitely get used to this. "I guess all those years of hacking up dead bodies   
finally had some practical use."  
  
"Don't sell yourself short, Dana. You're a gifted doctor. And a skilled field   
agent. I put that in my report--how well you performed, especially under   
pressure. And when we get stateside, I'm gonna contact your boss--A.D. Skinner   
was it?--and recommended that you get a commendation."  
  
"Mark, that's really not necessary."  
  
"Of course it is." He reached across the table, placed his hand on hers. "You   
should be rewarded for a job well done. You keep this up, you'll be running the   
Bureau in no time."  
  
Dana's first thought was that he was buttering her up a bit. Trying to woo her   
with words and wine, perhaps in hopes of getting something more out of this   
night. So as much as she enjoyed hearing his words of praise, she did not take   
them completely seriously. But looking at his face now--at the genuine gratitude   
and admiration she saw in his eyes--she knew his sentiment to be sincere. Once   
again, she felt that familiar pounding of her heart, even as she returned his   
smile.  
  
"Thank you, Mark. That really means a lot to me. I just wish we could have   
solved this case--found out what killed those kids."  
  
"I think you were on to something with the canister theory."  
  
"Do you really think that it could be responsible for the deaths of those kids?"  
  
"Well, if whatever it contained was powerful enough to cause multiple cave-ins,   
it probably could have generated the force that incinerated the kids' bodies."  
  
"Perhaps. Too bad you weren't able to retrieve it. I'd love to know what was in   
it. Which also leads me wonder . . . how did it get there in the first place?"  
  
"Someone must have planted it."  
  
"I guess we'll never know what it contained, who put it there, or what killed   
Scott and Kilikina." She sighed heavily. "I hate not having closure."  
  
"Yeah, unfortunately life doesn't always provide us with all the answers we   
seek."  
  
The waitress brought over two bowls of steaming soup.  
  
"What type of soup is this?" Dana asked.  
  
"Miso. It's pretty popular."  
  
Blowing on a spoonful of hot liquid, Dana took a small taste. It was salty, but   
the chunks of tofu gave it a nice texture. "It's good."  
  
"So, aside from the assorted bruises, you feeling okay?"  
  
"I'm feeling fine. Given the fact that I nearly drowned, the doctors decided to   
keep me that first night for observation. By the way, thank you for coming to   
see me, and for the flowers. I'm sorry I didn't get much of a chance to speak to   
you--I was still a little woozy from the meds."  
  
"You're welcome. I was lucky to get within ten feet of you, the way your partner   
was hovering."  
  
Dana raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You didn't know? From the moment he and the others found us on the beach, after   
I had given you CPR, he didn't let you out of his sight. Way Socks tell it,   
after the cave-in that separated us from them, Mulder went postal. Tried digging   
us out with his bare hands. Socks said he had to slug him to calm him down."  
  
Sighing, Dana shook her head. Typical Mulder. "There are times when Mulder can   
become a little . . . irrational. Our partnership is usually pretty equal, but   
there are moments when he can get rather . . . overprotective."  
  
"When we first met, it seemed like you two could barely tolerate each other. But   
by the time we got out of the cave, he seemed extremely concerned about you. And   
judging by his behavior at the hospital, I'm guessing you two have since worked   
through your differences."  
  
"Matters aren't completely settled, but I guess you could say we've declared a   
truce. We had been having some issues concerning our working relationship   
recently. But we had a little talk at the hospital, and Mulder has assured me   
that it will no longer be a problem. I've decided to give him the benefit of the   
doubt."  
  
"From the extent of his concern for you outside the cave and at the hospital,   
I'd say you two must have a lot of history together."  
  
Dana took a moment to wipe her mouth. She could see where Mark was going with   
this. He was gently inquiring about her relationship with Mulder, seeing if   
there was anything between them before making an embarrassing mistake this   
evening by being too forward.  
  
"Mulder and I have been partners for over six years. We've become good friends.   
We've been through a lot together, had a couple of close calls. So sometimes he   
over-reacts a bit."  
  
"You don't usually see someone act like that toward a partner."  
  
"Says the man who nearly got himself killed rappelling down a ravine to save his   
teammate," Dana pointed out.  
  
Mark considered. "Yeah, but that's different."  
  
"Not really. You and your men work together, you train together. When you're on   
a mission, you have to put your lives in each other's hands. It's the same for   
Mulder and me. When we're in the field, we usually only have the other as back   
up. I trust him with my life, as he does me. So it's more than just a   
partnership. It's a bond, of sorts."  
  
Mark nodded as he chewed, evidently now agreeing with what she was saying,   
relating to the sentiment. "Yeah, I could see how that would make you two really   
close."  
  
"He's probably the best friend I've ever had," Dana remarked, poking at a piece   
of tofu with her spoon. "We've helped see one another through some pretty rough   
times. But I'm sure you must know what that's like. You and your team seem   
pretty tight. You and Socks seem particularly close."  
  
"Yeah, they're a great bunch of guys. When it comes down to the wire, there's   
nobody else I'd rather have on my side. Socks, especially. We've been on   
hundreds of ops together. Best swim buddy I ever worked with. We've been working   
together so long, most of the time we don't even have to signal, we can just   
tell what the other intends to do."  
  
Dana nodded her head emphatically. "You know what the other is thinking,   
anticipate what they're going to say or do next even before they speak or act."  
  
"Exactly." Mark laughed. "You know, Dana, I can't tell you how many women have   
been unable to understand my commitment to the team. It's like they get jealous   
of my relationship with the guys. They think that because I'm so close to them,   
because I trust them implicitly, I can't feel the same way about them. And the   
relationship ends before it ever has the chance to get started. But you, you're   
the first woman who not only understands, but can also relate to what it is I'm   
trying to convey. Because you've got the same kind of relationship in your life.   
You know what it's like."  
  
Nodding, Dana could not help but smile at the irony. Back in the early days of   
her partnership with Mulder, when she actually made an active attempt at dating,   
she experienced the same problem. Hell, half the guys she went out with could   
not wrap their minds around the idea that she could work with a man that closely   
and not become romantically involved with him. It was as though they felt   
threatened by her close partnership with Mulder, no matter how many times she   
tried to assure them that theirs was merely a platonic relationship. How funny   
was it that it was only now--after a failed attempt at trying to pursue a   
romantic relationship with Mulder--when she was no longer actively searching for   
an empathetic man who was interested in her, that she finally found one? And   
better yet, it was a man she herself was interested in getting to know better.   
Fate really worked strangely sometimes.  
  
"So, your job has cost you a lot of women, huh?" she asked, taking the final   
chunk of tofu from her bowl. "What happened to having one in every port?"  
  
Mark nearly choked on his soup. "Well, uhm. . . ." Coughing, he reached for his   
cup of tea, downed it in only a few gulps. "I won't deny that when I first   
joined the Navy, I had my share of fun. Hell, I was still a kid at the time. But   
as the years passed, and I rose in the ranks, gained more responsibility,   
playing the field lost its appeal. I'm no kid anymore. And I look at my sister,   
Amy, with her husband and her two kids and her house, and I realize that coming   
home to an empty apartment isn't all it's cracked up to be. I want to find   
somebody to settle down with, share my life with. It's time for some stability."   
He took another sip of tea. "What about you?"  
  
"Well, I've always planned on getting married, having a family someday. First,   
it was going to be after college. Then after med school. When I joined the   
Bureau, I thought I'd be able to balance career and family. I had one serious   
relationship at the time--with an instructor, actually--but it didn't work out.   
I figured I'd meet someone else, that I'd be married in a couple of years. But   
then I was assigned to the X-Files, and my priorities changed completely. I'd   
always been a workaholic, but that kind of sentiment seemed to suddenly take on   
epic proportions. The nature of the work ultimately isolated Mulder and me from   
most of our co-workers. He's really devoted to the X-Files, and that kind of   
dedication is contagious, I've found. As time went on, I'd come to invest so   
much, I had such personal involvement with the work, that it took precedence   
over most other aspects of my life. In the beginning, I managed to find the time   
to date off and on, but as the years went by, I instead focused all of my energy   
in the work. And as a result, my personal life suffered. For the most part, I   
haven't been too bothered by that. It had gotten to the point where it just   
didn't seem worth the effort--especially given the lack of understanding from   
most men in regards to my devotion to my career."  
  
"You didn't look for a relationship elsewhere?" Mark asked. "You and Mulder. . .   
?"  
  
Dana had to bite back a laugh. She always found it amazing how fragile the male   
ego was, even in the most confident of men. "No. Even if either of us were   
interested, I don't think it's wise to mix professional and personal   
relationships. It makes things way too complicated, and they just don't work out   
well. I was already burned once in that regard." *Twice actually,* she silently   
corrected herself. *First by Jack Willis, then by Fox Mulder.*  
  
"Well, then I'm glad we're no longer working together on that case," he said   
softly, reaching to cover her hand with his own.  
  
The implications of his statement sent a delicious shiver down Dana's spine. She   
smiled demurely, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. From the intensity of   
his gaze, she realized that he was completely serious.  
  
She was debating how best to respond when the waitress returned with their   
dinner. She placed two plates of sushi in front of them, along with a pair of   
small bowls, and a larger bowl that contained a larger bowl with dark liquid.   
She said something to Mark in Japanese, and he nodded in reply.  
  
"This looks delicious," Dana said. "So, what have we got here?"  
  
"You've got the California rolls, and this one has the fish."  
  
"What's this small spot of green on the edge of the plate?" Dana asked.  
  
"Wasabi. It's very hot, like Chinese mustard."  
  
"And these?" Dana queried, pointing to several pinkish-orange, paper-thin slices   
that garnished the side of the dish.  
  
"That's pickled ginger," Mark explained. "It not only retains some of its heat,   
but it also has a distinctive sweet-sour taste. It's used as a palate cleanser--  
you eat it between bites of sushi so that you start each mouthful fresh."  
  
"There any special trick to this?"  
  
"Well, I can show you how I like to eat sushi. I usually start by pouring some   
soy sauce into my dipping bowl," he told her as he did so. "Then I pick up a   
little bit of wasabi with my chopsticks, and mix it with the soy sauce. Then I   
dunk my sushi in that." He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of sushi with   
practiced ease and dunked it into the tiny bowl.  
  
"Sounds easy enough," Dana said, following his instructions to prepare her own   
dipping sauce before picking up a piece of her California roll with   
comparatively less elegance.  
  
Mark looked at her expectantly.  
  
"Mmm," she said, nodding her head. "It's good."  
  
"I'm glad you like it."  
  
Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Dana looked up to see the sushi   
chef approaching the table, a plate in hand. He stopped, and gave a small bow.  
  
"Konichi-wa," the chef said.  
  
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied.  
  
They exchanged a few more words, and the chef placed his dish on the table.   
"Meshi agare." With a final bow to Dana and then to Mark, he   
took his leave.  
  
Dana was a little taken aback. "What was that all about?"  
  
"I guess they don't get many people ordering this dish, so he decided to deliver   
it personally," Mark surmised as he popped a piece of ginger into his mouth with   
his chopsticks.  
  
"More sushi?"  
  
Mark smiled, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "It's a special kind of sushi. The   
fish they use is a delicacy."  
  
"What kind of fish is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, as she picked up a   
slice of ginger.  
  
"Fugu."  
  
She arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Puffer fish."  
  
Dana stopped, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "Puffer fish? You're kidding. I   
thought they're poisonous."  
  
"They do contain a toxin. It's primarily concentrated in the ovaries and liver.   
The chefs that prepare it are specially trained to remove those organs safely.   
In Japan, they're licensed by the government. Wanna try some?"  
  
Dana had gone a shade paler. "Tetrodotoxin is one of the most potent toxins   
known! It specifically binds to sodium channels in nerve and skeletal muscle and   
blocks them. It can lead to severe muscle weakness, progress to respiratory   
paralysis, and ultimately end in death."  
  
"Oh, I know. Each year several people die from eating puffer fish."  
  
"Then why on earth would you want to take that chance?"  
  
"Well, just the idea that I'm putting my life in my hands is a bit of a rush.   
But also because eating it makes your lips get all numb and tingly."  
  
"There must be a minute amount of tetrodotoxin in the meat," Dana remarked,   
almost offhandedly.  
  
"It's a really wild sensation. Besides, it just tastes really good."  
  
"You're crazy!"  
  
"That's why they call me RB. At least this time, if something goes wrong, I've   
got my own personal physician standing by."  
  
Dana slowly shook her head. "Definitely crazy."  
  
"You sure you don't want to try it, Dana? Not even a little piece?"  
  
"No way."  
  
"Aw, c'mon. Haven't you ever wanted to take a chance? To live on the edge a   
bit?" Mark dunked a piece into his bowl and took a bite. "Mmm. Delicious."  
  
Dana considered. When was the last time she let down her hair? Cut loose a bit?   
She said herself that this was going to be night of experimentation. Surely, one   
little bite would not hurt?  
  
"Well, maybe just a taste."  
  
"That's the Li'l Red I know."  
  
Ignoring the infuriatingly condescending pet name he had first coined in the   
caves, Dana started to reach for the plate of fugu, but Mark stopped her.  
  
"Allow me." He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and held it out to her.   
Dana moved her head toward it, gently took a bite. She chewed it slowly,   
deliberately, savoring the taste. Mark was right. It was delicious.  
  
"How long does it take for your lips to get numb?"  
  
"A few minutes. But I don't know if that little piece will be enough to get a   
decent effect."  
  
Dana pursed her lips. She'd gone this far. . . . What the hell.  
  
"I suppose I could finish the rest of the piece. . . ."  
  
Laughing, Mark fed her another piece of sushi.  
  
  
End Epilogue Part 2  
  
  
***** 


	17. Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water Ep...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 17/17  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language, adult situations  
Spoilers: Through Season Six  
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance  
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder   
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in   
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are   
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing   
each other first?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Epilogue Part 3  
  
  
After dinner, Dana and Mark ended up taking a leisurely moonlight stroll on the   
beach by her hotel. The full moon suffused the pale sand in a soft glow. She had   
removed her shoes, and was now savoring the sensation of the cool sand beneath   
her feet and between her toes. A gentle breeze wafted through her hair, and made   
the temperature perfect. They slowly walked down the strip of beach side-by-  
side, their arms softly brushing against one another from time to time.  
  
Dana was more relaxed then she could remember feeling in a long time. The   
nervousness of earlier that evening had finally abated. Though she suspected it   
was because of all the sake and puffer fish she had consumed, she nonetheless   
preferred to think that it was because their frank dinner conversation had put   
her at ease.  
  
She felt really comfortable with Mark. He was easy to talk to--about any topic.   
Work. Politics. Books. Movies. Their many travels. They seemed to have more in   
common than she would ever have imagined. And at the same time, there were many   
ways in which they were complete opposites--which made getting to know him   
better all the more interesting. She found that when she talked with him, she   
felt as though she could be herself--let her guard down and speak her mind. And   
that was fine by him. He was one of those people you could talk to and feel as   
though you had known him for years.  
  
"I can't get over how beautiful the view is," Dana sighed.  
  
"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing all night."  
  
Dana looked up at Mark and saw that he was staring down at her. Flushing, she   
quickly looked away. "Flatterer," she murmured.  
  
"Can't blame a guy for stating the obvious."  
  
He was buttering her up, plain and simple. And Lord help her, she was falling   
for it--hook, line, and sinker.  
  
"Come on now, Dana, you must be used to this by now. Don't tell me guys aren't   
complimenting you all the time. You must have to fight 'em off with a stick."  
  
She laughed at that. "Not quite. Let's just say it's been a while since I've had   
to resort to violence."  
  
"Well, then the men you work with must have an inordinate amount of self-  
control."  
  
"I wouldn't go that far. It's just . . . well, I have a reputation of being   
somewhat of a . . . cold fish."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me. Even back when we met in the cave, it was obvious   
what a compassionate person you are. People must just be misinterpreting your   
professionalism for indifference."  
  
"Exactly. It's as though, just because I'm a woman, they expect me to be warm   
and emotional, to wear my heart on my sleeve. Some people just don't seem to   
understand that it's possible to beempathetic while still maintaining an air of   
professional decorum."  
  
He nodded in agreement. "It really is a double standard. Society claims to treat   
women equally in the work place. And yet, when a woman is career-driven and   
assertive, when she shows the least bit of ambition to succeed--qualities which   
are highly valued in a man--she's suddenly condemned as unfeminine and   
unemotional. As though the two aspects of one's personality must be mutually   
exclusive. I still don't get that."  
  
Dana was impressed. Sure, it occurred to her that he could be feeding her an   
elaborate line, playing up a feigned feminist viewpoint simply for her benefit.   
But her gut feeling told her that his words were genuine. There was a stark   
sincerity in his voice, a real embitterment at the injustices he seemed to have   
witnessed first-hand.  
  
"You know, Mark, if more people could see professional women through your eyes,   
there'd be many more of us in positions of authority. For starters, there'd be   
many more female agents in the bureau. If more people had an open mind like   
yours, there'd be more women in the armed forces, too."  
  
"Well, actually, that I'm not so sure about."  
  
"What?" She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Don't tell me you don't support   
the idea of women in the military?"  
  
He hesitated.  
  
"Of course! Why should it surprise me? Mr. Big Macho Navy SEAL would never be   
able to accept a small, frail, helpless woman as a soldier."  
  
"It's not that, Dana."  
  
"What, then? Afraid she can't tote her share of gear? That she can't jump from a   
plane or fire a gun?"  
  
"No, not at--"  
  
But Dana did not hear him. She had worked herself up into a small tizzy, unable   
to let this drop. "Think a woman doesn't have the heart to kill when it comes   
down to it? That she'd be too soft, and unable to pull the trigger when her   
fellow soldiers' lives were--"  
  
"For God's sake, Dana!" he all but shouted at her. "If you'd let me get a word   
in edgewise, I could try to explain my viewpoint."  
  
She clamped her mouth shut. Then she looked down at her feet sheepishly. "Oh . .   
. I'm, uhm . . . I'm sorry about that. I guess I'm kind of used to having to   
argue a bit to get my point heard and taken seriously. Go ahead."  
  
He smiled at her. "That's okay. You're awfully pretty when you're angry. Your   
cheeks get all flushed, and your eyes flash, and you get this little crease   
right between your eyes."  
  
Folding her arms, she could not refrain from quirking her mouth. "Thank you. But   
don't think you'll be able to charm your way out of this one by changing the   
subject. I still want to hear what you have to say."  
  
"Heaven forbid. Well, the reason that I'm hesitant about allowing women to serve   
in the military is not because of them per se. There are plenty of women out   
there who are perfectly capable of pulling their weight. Hell, look at you while   
we were in the caves. On a mission, I'd feel confident having you cover my back.   
In my time, I've seen some damned good women soldiers, who could take certain   
guy soldiers in a fight any day of the week. It's not them I have a problem   
with."  
  
"Well, what then?"  
  
"It's more an issue of the men. Not so much in accepting the fact that a woman   
is perfectly capable of being a warrior. With time, I think it's possible to   
view certain women in that light. It's just that for the most part, the majority   
of women that a man deals with are nothing like that. More often than not, when   
a man sees a woman, he thinks of his mother, or his sister, or his girlfriend.   
Women that he cares about, of whom he's protective. In a field situation, were a   
woman to fall into danger--if she were to become injured or captured--the   
average Joe's natural gut instinct is going to be to protect her from harm, to   
keep her safe. Never mind that she might be tougher than Xena and able to hold   
her own. It's just human nature. It may be socially constructed, but it's human   
nature all the same. And that kind of thinking is going to make a man get   
sloppy. Which means he's going to get himself and his teammates killed."  
  
"Well, that has nothing to do with women's capabilities as soldiers."  
  
"No, it doesn't. Not at all. But it does affect the men's. And when one   
soldier's judgment is brought into question, the entire team is compromised.   
Which means they won't be able to get the job done. So, in answer to your   
question, I think that women may be ready to join the military, but I think that   
men have got a ways to go before they'll be prepared to deal with women as   
fellow soldiers."  
  
For one of the rare times in Dana's life, she was speechless. Mark had a very   
good point. It was a logical, well-thought-out argument. She might not like it,   
she might not agree with it, but it made good, logical sense and went a long   
ways toward explaining the actions and the mind set of a great many military men   
she had come to deal with over the years. Simply the fact that Mark acknowledged   
a woman's ability to serve as a capable soldier was a huge leap forward in the   
thinking of a man in his position, she realized.  
  
*We really have come a long way, baby.*  
  
Dana smiled then. It had been a long time since she had been able to find a man   
with whom she could carry on intelligent conversation, with whom she could   
debate issues like politics and societal values and personal philosophies.   
Someone who would listen to her arguments intently, and give them serious   
consideration, and yet also offer his own perspective, without tying to force   
them on her. A person who did not feel threatened by her intellect or her strong   
opinions, but rather welcomed them as a vital part of her personality.  
  
There was Mulder, of course. He had always treated her as an equal during their   
intellectual conversations. It was in other matters of consideration that he was   
sorely lacking. And as a result, their pedantic exchanges had long since fallen   
to the wayside.  
  
With Mark, it was different. They seemed able to connect on so many levels.   
There was the intellectual, as now. There was also a great deal of physical   
attraction, a definite chemistry that flowed between them. But in addition to   
his mind and his good looks, there was something more. Perhaps it was because of   
his line of work, but Mark was, without a doubt, something of a daredevil, a   
definite risk-taker. "RB" seemed to say it all. He was brave and bold and   
headstrong. And there was just something about that undaunting recklessness that   
appealed to her.  
  
Being with him, feeling the energetic spirit practically radiate off of him,   
brought up her own feelings of rebellion and audaciousness, buried since her   
teenage years. And now that she had gotten a taste of that forbidden fruit--the   
ideas and notions she had denied herself for so long--she was no longer willing   
to forget them again quite so easily. When she was with him, she wanted to take   
chances, to try new things, to live life a bit closer to the edge. It made her   
feel powerful. Vibrant. Alive. More so than she had in years. She felt as though   
she had found a piece of herself that she had lost a long time ago. And she   
liked that. She liked it a lot.  
  
"Dana?" She felt him lightly touch her arm.  
  
"Hmm?" she asked, turning to face him.  
  
"You still with me? For a minute there, you seemed a million miles away."  
  
"Did I? Sorry about that. I was just thinking," she said, resuming their   
leisurely pace.  
  
"Penny for 'em."  
  
She hesitated. "They're not worth that much, I'm afraid."  
  
"I get it. You don't want to share. That's fine. I understand."  
  
"Well, a girl's got to maintain some air of mystery. I tell you all my secrets   
on our first date, there'll be nothing left to talk about next time."  
  
"Next time, huh? I take it that means you're having a good time, that you'd   
consider going out again?"  
  
"I'm having a wonderful evening, and yes, I'd love to see you again."  
  
He smiled. "Great. I really enjoy being with you, Dana. I haven't had   
conversation this good in a long time."  
  
Conversation, huh? Is that what he saw when he looked at her: the chance for a   
good chat, a nice opportunity for a heated discussion? That seemed to be the   
story of her life.  
  
Just as her spirits began to sink, he did something to quickly put an end to   
that notion.  
  
As he walked, Mark's arms were swinging slowly at his sides. During an upswing,   
his arm glided past hers, just as it had many times that evening. But this time,   
he slid her hand in his, curled his fingers around it, and did not let go.  
  
For a moment, Dana tensed, so surprised was she by his action. But as she   
realized what had happened, she forced herself to relax. She bent her own   
fingers, and held tight to his hand as they continued walking, never losing   
pace.  
  
"How are your lips doing?" he asked her.  
  
"My lips?"  
  
"Still tingly?" He stopped then, and turned to face her. He stood not a foot   
away, looking down at her face.  
  
If his nearness were any indication, conversation was the furthest thing from   
his mind right about then. Dana definitely felt tingly--though the sensation was   
in no way limited to her mouth, nor due to the sushi she had eaten.  
  
"I think there might be some residual numbness. It's hard to tell."  
  
"Well, perhaps we ought to test them out. To ensure there's no permanent   
damage."  
  
Before Dana even had the chance to reply, she felt his mouth on her own.   
Considering it was a first kiss, it was anything but hesitant. There was a   
power, an urgency, to it. She felt his hands come up to cradle her face. Her   
eyes drifted closed, even as her lips parted in response to the insistent urging   
of his tongue. He made no hesitation at the invitation she offered, and plunged   
inside her mouth--exploring, touching, tasting as he caressed first her teeth   
then her own tongue.  
  
For her part, Dana was anything but passive. She met him stroke for stroke,   
movement for movement, tarrying first with his tongue, and then moving into his   
mouth for her own exploration. That seemed to excite him as much as it did her,   
for she felt his hand move to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her   
hair and pulling her closer.  
  
Dana gladly would have gone on for hours, but, ultimately, her need for oxygen   
won out. They reluctantly pulled apart, each gasping for breath. His hands slid   
down her face, one coming to rest where her jaw met her neck, the other on the   
curve of her shoulder. She stared up at him through hooded eyes, chest heaving   
up and down as she drew the cool night air into her lungs. He held her gaze. She   
watched as he licked his lips, and she wondered if he could still taste her   
there.  
  
"Wow," was all he could manage in a wavering voice.  
  
Dana smiled in return. She could not have said it better herself. "So, did I   
pass the test?"  
  
"With flying colors. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just   
proceed directly to the head of the class to collect your prize."  
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
"Anything you want--so long as you promise we can do that again sometime," he   
said, caressing her cheek with his thumb.  
  
"I think that might be arranged," she replied, leaning into his touch. Looking   
up at him, she watched as his eyes dipped down, no doubt to watch the rapid rise   
and fall of her chest above the plunging bodice of her dress. Dana felt her skin   
flush--not so much with embarrassment as with desire. It had been a long time   
since her body had reacted this way. Probably because she could not remember the   
last time a man had kissed her with such passion, such intent. She did not want   
these intense sensations to end. She was nearly overcome with a sudden longing   
for his hands to follow his gaze, to touch and stroke her sensitized flesh.  
  
A moment's hope quickly turned to disappointment as she felt his hand continue   
its downward path along her neck and shoulders, as he slowly stroked her arm   
until he reached her hand, which he took in his own.  
  
She felt his other hand leave her, and she bit back a sigh of frustration. But   
then she saw his fingers heading toward her chest, and she nearly gasped. Her   
brow furrowed as she realized that his angle of approach, though too low to be   
meant for her neck, was nonetheless too high to be intended for her breast. Her   
eyes once again closed, and she held her breath in sweet anticipation.  
  
She felt the feather-light touch of his fingers just below her collar bones.   
"That's a beautiful necklace," he said.  
  
Opening her eyes, she looked down to see him holding her tiny gold cross in his   
fingers.  
  
"I've been admiring it all night."  
  
Dana slowly let out the breath she had been holding. Though she still found his   
touch arousing, from the tone of his voice, she knew that the intensity of the   
moment had passed. She realized, however, that by maintaining light yet   
deliberate contact, he was being sure to tell her 'I'm still interested. Let's   
just take things a little bit more slowly.'  
  
That notion only seemed to stoke the growing fire within her. His consideration,   
his courtesy to not take advantage of what was obviously impassioned desire on   
both sides, of wanting to get to know her better before taking things any   
further, only made her want him more. It was funny how showing a little bit of   
respect could get you exactly what you wanted.  
  
For a moment she wondered if that was exactly what he was doing. If this was all   
part of some large, preconceived scheme to get her into bed. He had obviously   
played the field before. Perhaps this was no different; just a more challenging   
notch to carve into his belt.  
  
She quickly dismissed the idea. She remembered his honest declaration earlier   
that evening--of wanting to find the right woman with whom to settle down,   
someone with whom he could share his life, a family. If he really did think that   
they connected so well--and she was sure he did--he would not take that chance   
by advancing too quickly.  
  
Although as far as she were concerned, the way her body hungered for him   
needily, he could toss her to the ground and take her right here, right now. She   
wondered what he would do with such knowledge.  
  
*That is exactly the kind of situation he's trying to avoid, Dana. He's trying   
to be a gentleman because he obviously holds you in high regard, and all you can   
think about is jumping his bones.*  
  
Almost of its own accord, her eyes wandered down his chest to his crotch. She   
wondered if he was as hard right now as she was wet.  
  
*For God's sake, Dana, stop it! You're hornier than a schoolgirl! It's been a   
while, but that doesn't mean you have to jump him on your first date. You'll   
scare away your first chance at a decent man, at a healthy relationship. Take a   
deep breath, and just calm down.*  
  
Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head of any remaining carnal thoughts.   
She tried to focus on his words. He was saying something about her cross.  
  
". . . really is lovely. It's simple, which is what makes it so elegant."  
  
"Thank you," she said, surprised she was able to find her voice. "My, uhm . . .   
my mom gave it to me, years ago, when I was a teenager."  
  
"And you still wear it?"  
  
"I've rarely taken it off since. And even then, more often than not, it wasn't   
really by choice."  
  
"If you don't mind my asking, are you a very religious person?"  
  
"Uhm. . . ."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dana," he said, letting go of her necklace. "I didn't mean to pry."  
  
"No, Mark, that's okay. It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just not a   
simple answer."  
  
"Well, c'mon, then," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. "Let's walk some   
more, and you can try to explain it."  
  
"Okay," she smiled, falling once again in step beside him. "Well, I was raised   
Catholic. When I was a kid, we went to church every Sunday and holidays. I don't   
know how much I believed in it back then. When I was younger, I did. But then I   
hit that teenaged rebellious streak most kids do, and I resisted it. As I got a   
little older, though, and started to question things--life, my place in the   
world, that sort of thing--the church drew me back. When I went to college, and   
was away from the watchful eyes of my parents, I lapsed again. And then in med   
school, there barely seemed enough time for eating or sleeping, let alone going   
to church. So although I still believed, I became an infrequent worshiper. The   
big holidays, when I visited my parents, that sort of thing.  
  
"Around the time I finished med school, when the bureau was trying to recruit   
me, I found myself returning. I spent some long hours talking to our priest,   
sitting in the pews waiting for some sort of divine inspiration. It seemed that   
those days I was seeking counsel wherever I could get it. I was torn between   
going the route my parents wanted--practicing medicine--and following the other   
path which seemed to be calling me."  
  
"You obviously chose the latter."  
  
"Ultimately, yes. Believe me, it was no easy decision. But I knew that whatever   
I chose, God would still be there, to watch over me. He'd let me know in those   
mysterious ways of His, if I had chosen the right path. But then I got caught up   
in my work, in trying to carve a niche out for myself, in a new relationship,   
and I let my faith waiver again. There were a few occasions, during my work on   
the X-Files, when I was drawn back to the church. One involving a 'miracle man'   
that could seemingly heal people with his touch. Another involving a boy who   
displayed stigmata."  
  
"The wounds of Christ? Geez, you really do get your share of weird happenings."  
  
Smiling, Dana nodded. "After each of those cases, I found myself questioning my   
faith. But along the way, He seemed to give me signs that He was still there. He   
helped see me through some very difficult times."  
  
She paused, trying to decide whether to say more--to reveal some very private,   
very painful events. One glance up at Mark--at the concerned, attentive look on   
his face as he gazed back down at her--made the decision for her.  
  
She took a deep breath, searching for the strength to continue.  
  
"Several years ago, I was abducted. I'm still not certain by whom, or where I   
was taken. I have almost no recollection of what happened--which is probably for   
the best. I was missing for three months."  
  
"Dana, I'm so sorry," he said, genuine sympathy softening his voice, as he   
squeezed her hand.  
  
She nodded her appreciation, but kept on speaking. Talking about this was not   
easy, and now that she had begun, she felt the words rushing from her lips,   
needing to get out, to be said and heard.  
  
"When I was finally returned, I was in a coma, on the brink of death. During   
that time, I had . . . I guess you could call them out-of-body experiences. I   
remember my father--who had been deceased for over a year--talking to me,   
telling me it wasn't time for me to join him yet. I also recall a kind woman, a   
nurse, watching over me, taking care of me. Only, when I regained consciousness   
and finally asked about her, they told me no such person ever worked at the   
hospital."  
  
"So you think she was some kind of guardian angel, sent to protect you, to guide   
you home?" Surprisingly, there was none of the expected incredulity, no sense of   
mocking, in his tone.  
  
"I realize how silly that must sound."  
  
"That's not silly at all, Dana. I've known men who have almost died--who   
actually *have* died, but were resuscitated. Many of them have had similar   
experiences, similar stories. Not just the stereotypical bright light. But loved   
ones pushing them away, or kindly people leading them home. It's certainly not   
unheard of. I have no doubt that you experienced something similar."  
  
"To this day, I'm still not sure what to believe. All I know is that for a time,   
I had my faith renewed. But then, the biggest test came a few years ago."  
  
Something bigger? Mark wondered incredulously. Hell, being kidnapped for three   
months seemed like the mother of all life-altering events. What could she   
possibly have been through that could top that?  
  
"As a result of my abduction--and of the tests they performed on me--I had   
contracted a rare form of cancer. I was diagnosed with an inoperable   
nasopharyngeal tumor."  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks, turned to face her. Even in the moonlight, she   
could tell that he had gone a shade lighter. "Holy shit. I-I don't know what to   
say. But you're okay now, right? You're not sick anymore?"  
  
She was deeply touched by the level of concern in his voice. "I'm fine. I've   
been in remission for over two years."  
  
"I can't even imagine. It must have been a difficult time for you."  
  
"It was. For a while I was in denial. I felt fine, and I didn't want to believe   
that I was dying. I learned a few months later that the cancer had metastasized.   
So far as I knew, it was only a matter of time. One night, my mom had a dinner   
party. Invited her priest, Father McCue. She went so far as to sit him next to   
me, hoping he would counsel me, minister to my faith. But at that point in my   
life, I was so angry--at the world, at God. I was angry at the injustice of it   
all. I pushed Father McCue--and God--away.  
  
"Then things took a sudden turn for the worse, and I was hospitalized. My doctor   
began an aggressive experimental treatment as a last-ditch effort. Nothing   
seemed to be working, and everyone seemed to be fearing the worst--myself   
included. During that time, spending countless hours lying in that hospital bed,   
gave me plenty of opportunities to think. And I realized that all along, I had   
been going about things the wrong way. My entire life, I had accomplished so   
much, gotten through many crises, on simple faith. Except, at that time, when I   
needed it most, I pushed it away. I thought I was doing everything in my power   
to try to heal myself. But the truth of the matter was, I was not getting   
better. I was dying. And I had never been so frightened.  
  
"It was then that I realized how much I had come to rely on my faith, on my   
religion, on God, my whole life. When everything else failed, that was the one   
reliable thing to fall back on. I remembered this cross--" she took the small   
charm in her fingers--"and why I wore it, what it symbolizes to me. And I knew   
that if I were to get through this, if I were to see my illness through to the   
end--whatever that end might be--I needed to call on that faith. And so Father   
McCue came to me, and together we prayed. Only then did I feel that I had done   
all I could, exhausted every possible resource."  
  
"And the treatments--they cured you?"  
  
"To this day, I don't know if it was the medical treatment, an alternative   
remedy we attempted, or even a miracle that saved me. To tell you the truth, I   
don't care what did it. It doesn't really matter. What does is that I was given   
a second chance. It was almost like I was tested. When I was at the lowest point   
in my life, I asked God for help. And He answered me. I know now that no matter   
what--if I ever lose my way again, have more doubts in myself, in others, in the   
world--He'll always be there. Waiting.  
  
"So, you asked me if I consider myself a religious person. Well, religion is   
very important to me. My faith is an integral part of who I am. Right now, my   
faith is strong. I believe."  
  
He looked down at her, and shook his head in amazement. "Dana Scully, you are   
one incredible woman. During that time in the cave, I could tell that you were a   
strong person. But I had no idea how strong. To have been through all that--the   
abduction, the cancer--to have carried on and managed to overcome it is   
remarkable in and of itself. But to have been able to have learned from it, to   
have given it meaning in order to improve your life. . . . it's incredible. As   
is your spirit." He gently reached to stroke her cheek. "As are you."  
  
She smiled. More often than not, when people learned of her cancer, they offered   
her sympathy and sadness, regret and pity. But never before had someone truly   
appreciated her struggle, the inner turmoil her illness put her through. She did   
not think it possible for someone to completely comprehend what she had been   
through without having been there.  
  
Mark had not even known her before her cancer, and yet he was still able to   
recognize how the experience had changed her, helped make her into the woman she   
was today. Somehow, he understood.  
  
At that moment, she felt another connection to him. Not only had they managed to   
connect on both a physical and an intellectual level, but now she also felt an   
emotional--no, a spiritual--tie to him. More than anything, she wanted to get to   
know him better, to obtain a peek into his heart, just as he had managed to see   
into hers.  
  
"What about you?" she asked, taking up the slow pace again. "Does religion   
factor at all into your life?"  
  
He gave a soft chuckle. "Well, believe it or not, Dana, I was actually born and   
raised Catholic. I guess you can say that I've lapsed. Can't remember the last   
time I was in a church. No, wait, I lie. It was probably for my nephew Nate's   
christening, oh about six years ago."  
  
"What made you give it up?" she asked gently.  
  
After her revelations of the importance of her faith to her, he was thankful   
that her tone was not accusatory, but merely curious.  
  
"Let's just say I became disillusioned at a very early age. When I was still in   
grade school--about seven or so--my mom got really sick. Cancer, actually. For   
well over a year, she was in and out of the hospital. It was a horrible thing to   
watch, especially for a young kid like me. She was slowly wasting away, her body   
turning on her, and eventually her spirit giving up. My older sister, Amy, was   
incredible. She was a senior in high school at the time. Not only did she help   
nurse my mom when she was still able to live at home, but she also took over all   
the household chores. I was too young to make much of a contribution. And my   
dad--well, with his work and all, he was away half of the time. Eventually, Mom   
went into the hospital, and she never came home again."  
  
"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry," Dana said, taking his hand in both of hers. "It's hard   
enough to lose a parent when you're an adult. I can't imagine what it would be   
like for a young child."  
  
"Yeah, I was pretty devastated. But Amy, she held the family together. She   
became like a surrogate mother to me. Kept me on the right track. Made sure I   
did my homework, ate my vegetables, stayed out of trouble. She clothed me and   
fed me and loved me. Hell, she pretty much raised me. After she graduated from   
high school, she got a job in a bank so that she would be home by the time I was   
out of school. She gave up her own dreams to ensure that I was well taken care   
of. By the time I got to high school, she was able to get a better job as a   
secretary in a different department. That's where she met her husband Alan,   
actually--he was her boss. But anyway, she kept me on the up and up, instilled   
in me the importance of a good education. She was always encouraging me. She was   
behind me one hundred percent when I decided to apply to the naval academy at   
Annapolis. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack during my freshman year.   
But on graduation day, Amy was there to cheer me on."  
  
"She sounds like a pretty incredible woman."  
  
"Oh, she is. She was sister and mother and friend to me. Amy always had   
traditional family values. Mom instilled them in her, and after her death, Amy   
felt obligated to pass them on to me. Things like respecting your elders,   
staying out of trouble, working hard at school, and going to church every   
Sunday. It was a weekly ritual. We never missed a service. I think it was her   
faith in God that helped see Amy through it. I remember seeing her praying a   
lot, especially around the time mom got really sick. In her unwavering belief,   
she found the strength to carry on.  
  
"For me, church did just the opposite. I became embittered toward God. I   
couldn't understand how a supposedly all-powerful being could be so cruel, so   
heartless. How he could make my mother have to suffer so, and take her away from   
me and my family. Why he would make my sister--one of the most devout and pious   
people I've ever known--have to make so many sacrifices.  
  
"Amy gave up so much for me. Ever since she was a little girl, she had played   
the piano. Mom taught her. And Amy was really good. She had dreamed of going to   
Julliard, of becoming a concert pianist. But when mom got sick, she had less   
time to practice. She still played--Mom was constantly asking her to because   
hearing Amy's music always helped take her mind off of the pain. But after Mom   
died, it was all Amy could do to finish her requirements so that she could   
graduate. She never bothered to apply to any college because she felt it was her   
duty, her obligation, to take care of her family. She gave up her dreams for me.   
And never once did she complain. Rather, she was always smiling, always   
laughing, always happy. She made the best of any situation.  
  
"Still, I never thought it was fair, all she had to give up on account of me.   
She deserved better. I blamed God for all of it. When I lived at home, I still   
went to church every Sunday, but only because Amy asked me to. I could never say   
no to Amy--still can't, actually. But it was just going through the motions. I   
no longer believed in God. I renounced any and all faith in His power. I guess   
that makes me an atheist, huh?"  
  
"Losing your faith in God and not believing He exists are not one and the same,"   
Dana stated gently. "I can see why you would come to doubt, even to hate Him,   
for what you perceived to be incredibly unjust wrongs to you and your family.   
The same way I can see how the same circumstances produced the completely   
opposite effect on your sister. In her pain, she turned to God for help, whereas   
you shunned Him. Both are completely understandable reactions to the type of   
tragedy you've had to endure. Hell, I think I've followed both routes at   
different times in my life. Ultimately, I found my way back to Him. Who knows,   
one day you might, too."  
  
He shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt it. The pain's too deep, the wound too old.   
Some grudges can never be forgiven."  
  
"Fair enough. For what it's worth, Mark, I'm truly sorry for all the loses   
you've had to endure."  
  
"Don't be. I'm sorry I never really got to know my mother, and I'll always miss   
her. But for the most part, my childhood was good. It was happy. Amy made sure   
of that."  
  
"She really does sound like a remarkable woman." There was sincere admiration in   
Dana's voice.  
  
"Oh, she sure is. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for her. You know,   
Dana, in many ways, you remind me of her. I don't just mean your persistent   
faith. You're both strong, spirited. Determined. Undaunted in whatever you put   
your minds to. Compassionate."  
  
Given the way Mark had described Amy--the heartfelt adoration and nearly devout   
regard in which he held her--Dana was deeply touched. In fact, she felt truly   
honored. If he held her in half as much esteem as his beloved sister, she   
considered herself lucky indeed.  
  
She smiled at him warmly.  
  
"Maybe someday you two could meet. I'm sure she'd come to know and care for you   
as much as I do."  
  
"I'd like that, Mark. I'd like that a lot." Dana found the idea of meeting this   
woman who had played such an integral role in shaping Mark's life a wonderful   
opportunity.  
  
"Me, too." He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. "Thanks for listening to me   
ramble on, Dana. I hope I didn't bore you too much."  
  
"Not at all. I'm glad you told me. I think hearing about your childhood, about   
your sister, helped me to understand you a bit more. Get to know more about what   
makes Mark Riskey tick."  
  
"Same here. I'm glad you told me about your fight with the cancer, and how it   
changed you. Most of all, I'm glad you beat it. That I've gotten the opportunity   
to meet you. And, I hope, to get to know you even more."  
  
A strong, cooler breeze blew past then. Dana felt it straight through the thin   
fabric of her sweater, and shivered.  
  
"The wind's starting to pick up," Mark said, glancing around. "We should   
probably head back to the hotel."  
  
"Yeah, it's getting late," Dana said, glancing at her watch. Her eyes suddenly   
grew round. "My God, is that really the time?"  
  
Mark looked at his own watch. "Ah geez. You've got an early flight tomorrow--er,   
today--don't you?"  
  
Smiling sheepishly, Dana nodded. "No big deal. I can sleep on the ride back to   
D.C." *And it'll save me the trouble of having to make small talk with Mulder.*  
  
"All the same, we should probably get back," he said, holding out his hand.  
  
As another stronger breeze whipped through her, Dana quickly took his hand and   
they made their way back up the beach the way they had come.  
  
"You cold?" he asked.  
  
"A l-little," she muttered, teeth beginning to chatter.  
  
"I'm sorry I don't have a jacket to offer you. Guess I'll just have to   
improvise." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.  
  
"You Navy SEALs sure are a resourceful lot." Dana encircled his waist, huddling   
into the warmth of his body as much as she was able.  
  
Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the doorway to her hotel room.  
  
"Well, here we are," Dana said, stopping a foot or so in front of the door. She   
looked up at him and smiled. "You, ah, want to come in for a while?"  
  
For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, a hint of temptation crossing his   
features. "I'd love to, Dana, but it really is getting awfully late. I don't   
want to keep you up--I'd hate for you to oversleep and miss your flight on   
account of me."  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right." She hoped she did not sound too terribly   
disappointed. "So, you going to be sticking around the island for a while?"  
  
"Probably at least till the end of the week--until the docs spring Robbins. I   
like for us to all travel together if I can help it."  
  
She nodded. "I guess you and the guys will manage to find some way to pass the   
time."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure we'll have some fun. It's too bad you can't stick around a while   
longer."  
  
"And so goes the life of a federal employee," she remarked with a dramatic sigh.  
  
They laughed.  
  
"You'll just have to soak up some rays for me," she told him.  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"I had a really great time tonight, Mark."  
  
"Me too. Hopefully, we can do it again some time."  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
"Would it be okay if I called you when I got back to the states?"  
  
Her smile lit up her entire face. "Sure. Let me just give you my numbers." She   
rummaged through her purse, managed to find a business card and a pen, and   
scribbled on the back of it. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "The   
card has my office and cell numbers, and I've added my home one. You should be   
able to reach me at one of the three."  
  
"Busy lady."  
  
"They keep me on my toes."  
  
Another moment of silence.  
  
"Well, have a safe trip back."  
  
"Thanks again, Mark. Good night."  
  
Key in hand, she paused a moment before preparing to turn toward the door.  
  
In that moment, he gently cradled her face in his hands and bent towards her.   
Her eyes slid closed just as she felt his lips touch hers in a soft, gentle   
kiss. He slowly pulled away, leaving her standing there, unable to find the   
strength--or the will--to move from the spot.  
  
"Good night, Dana," he whispered.  
  
She opened her eyes, and watched as he backed slowly down the hallway, waving.  
  
Smiling, she waved back before letting herself into her room. As she closed the   
door, she leaned back against it, sighing contentedly. She stayed there for a   
while, mind a million miles away.  
  
Reluctantly, she walked over to the bed, slipped out of her sandals and her   
sweater. She was about to go into the bathroom to wash up when she caught sight   
of her reflection in the mirror. She almost did not recognize herself--so big   
was the smile on her face. She could not remember the last time she had felt   
this happy, this relaxed. It was a feeling she could get used to.  
  
Slowly, she reached up to her ear, and gently removed the flower from her hair.   
She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply its sweet aroma, letting it   
permeate her senses.  
  
For the first time in a long while, Dana Scully looked forward to tomorrow, and   
what new surprises lay in store for her.  
  
  
Finis  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Hope you enjoyed this! More to come soon, so stay tuned!  
  
  
*****  
  
Deep Water  
by Jewel  
  
You find yourself falling down  
Your hopes in the sky  
But your heart like grape gum on the ground  
And you try to find yourself  
In the abstractions of religion  
And the cruelty of everyone else  
And you wake up to realize  
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive  
  
When you're standing in deep water  
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw  
And when you're drowning in deep water  
And you wake up making love to a wall  
Well it's these little times that help to remind  
It's nothing without love  
  
You wake up to realize your only friend  
Has never been yourself or anyone who cared in the end  
That's when suddenly everything fades or falls away  
'Cause the chains which once held us are only the chains which we've made  
  
When you're standing in deep water  
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw  
And when you're drowning in deep water  
And you wake up making love to a wall  
Well it's these little times that help to remind  
It's nothing without love, love, love  
It's nothing without love  
  
We've compromised our pride  
And sacrificed our health  
We have to demand more  
Not of each other  
But more from ourselves  
  
'Cause when you're standing in deep water  
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw  
When you're drowning in deep water  
And you wake up making love to a wall  
Well it's these little times that help to remind  
It's nothing without love, love, love  
It's nothing without love  
It's nothing without love 


End file.
